Dark Waltz
by Broken-Vow
Summary: I was locked in his world. No escape and no possibility of release. And yet I cannot hate him...Dark. Modern. Sprinkled with bits of Leroux and Kay.
1. Beginning

I hesitate to begin, not knowing where in the world to start. The story of my short life is an overwhelming task to record, and I am sure it will take quite a while. Besides that is my scarcity of time and supplies necessary to write it all down. However, I will do the best I can with what I am given. My greatest fear is that no one will know nor care what happened to me, that no one cared that Christine Daae simply disappeared one day. So I write down these events in hope that this collection will once be found and that my story will be known to at least one other person besides myself.

I suppose I should start out about myself. It will make my actions during my adventures seem much more rational if you knew why I made them. I was born Christine Daae to a good, strong family. We loved each other very much. My father was a geophysicist, working wherever there was work to be found. Geophysicists' salaries are quite agreeable, so I grew up wanting little. We moved quite often, wherever oil was found, so I grew up thinking families moving every six months was the normal thing to do. Because of the change, my sister Lydia and I were home schooled by my stay at home mother, who loved us dearly and we in return. I actually was enrolled in a school for about a year. The town had struck it rich with oil, and we stayed for quite a while. I was put into a private school.

It was there that I met Raoul. At first we were enemies. He would tease me and call me names and send me home crying. But through time we became good friends, and I was terrified that we would move again. He was my first real non-related friend, and I loved him dearly. But we did move again. On the day I told him we were moving he took me behind the school and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I was only eleven, and boys still had cooties. I ran back to my car and didn't see Raoul until quite a long time later.

As I grew up, I took a special interest in music and theater. I took piano lessons for a few months, but again was forced to quit because of our moving. As soon as we settled into a new house I would go searching for a theater and beg to be a volunteer, doing whatever I could to assist the cast and crew. A few times they even let me be an extra. I was never happier than up onstage, singing my heart out with a large smile on my face. It was then that I knew I had to devote my life to music and the arts. Unfortunately, I was rather deplorable at singing, but that didn't prevent my enthusiasm for trying.

When I was fifteen, my father died in a terrible accident in his workplace. It was devastating, especially to my poor mother, who loved him very much. In the days before his funeral she would come home at two in the morning, smelling of alcohol, and climb straight to bed without a word to us. Our insurance covered a lot of our expenses, but my mother was still forced to take up a job in New Jersey, where we resided for the next four years. My sister and I were obligated to work throughout our high school years, donating almost all of our money to mother's necessities such as alcohol. But she was never abusive. She was a heavy drinker, brooding on the darker aspects of her life, sometimes randomly bursting into tears. My sister and I were unprepared for this desperate situation we were left in, and had no idea how to handle it.

When I was a senior in high school I had begun to seriously think about pursuing a career in music. That is, until my mother, drunk to the point of rage, screamed at me to become realistic and stop my stupid childhood fantasies of becoming a singer. She said that I couldn't sing worth anything, and that I was much more capable of studying something realistic, like nursing. Because of the recent conditions which fate had thrown at me, I had begun to have a weak self-esteem, and realized my mother was right. I had decent grades, and was accepted into a small college in New York. I was never more miserable when I was reading my acceptance letter.

My mother took her own life two weeks after my eighteenth birthday. I think she was waiting until we were both legally adults and she wouldn't have to worry about us. In the week before her funeral Lydia and I grew to hate each other, each of us blaming the other for both of our parent's death. How I regret our pitiful arguments! But after the funeral there was no need to see each other. We each went our separate ways, revealing nothing of our future plans. I went to college and rented a pitiful apartment that allowed me to sleep indoors. Most people in New York aren't so lucky. I got a job and my days began to get hectic. I would barely get five hours of sleep each night before getting up to attend classes, which confused me greatly. I had never paid much attention in science, and disliked it immensely. I was confused, angry, and tired constantly.

So theater became my outlet. I found a pathetic theater a few blocks away from my apartment and was instantly involved. I cut classes to audition and sing. My grades suffered, and I was threatened with expulsion unless I got my act together. I was a silly nineteen year-old, and I quit college, with a mere high school diploma and was only part-way into getting my associates. But I could now sing much more often, and my job didn't seem so long since I was getting sleep each night. I was living a pitiful life, I knew it, but I was happy.

I must admit my hand is cramping from all the things I have been writing, but I must continue. I have a few hours given to me for my free time, and I am going to use the wisely.

_He_ has just knocked on my door. Has the hours gone so fast? I must depart, my dear journal, and continue you soon.


	2. Hanging by his Neck

**Hanging by his Neck**

I must admit, all of my ventures are not clearly imprinted in my mind. I will take it upon myself to write down the ones that _are _there in my head, and the ones that are important later. My story begins nearly one year ago, when I had just turned nineteen.

I had just finished painting the final set piece for the new production and was admiring it satisfactorily. I could feel streaks of paint drying on my cheeks, and my hair felt stiff. I was not the most neat or graceful person. My boss came over to sneer at it as usual, but I was too used to this to really care, feeling that I had done a rather nice job.

"You can leave for today, Christine," he said, nodding to the front door. I gave a small half-smile in return and hurried to my apartment to shower and change before going to my second job at a smaller restaurant. Cleanliness was a necessity for me; it was just one of those odd things and habits that people have – mine was being clean. After giving up on my thick blonde hair I took a cab to the _Fleur-de-lis_. My manager was waiting impatiently, looking at her watch.

"You're late again, Christine," she frowned. "Next time I might have to cut you."

Showing that I understood, I placed the smile upon my lips and began to take orders. The night seemed endless and I began to wonder if it wasn't such a bad idea to quit, but quickly shook it off; I needed this job. It was nearly ten o' clock, and I was beginning to get irritable and tired, when a pleasant surprise was seated at my next table. Two men, obviously brothers, were seated, talking animatedly about something or other. When I monotonously introduced myself the younger man looked up at me interestedly. A faint blush overwhelmed me, and I flustered their orders for a minute or so before hurrying off, unable to shake of the man's deep, clear-blue eyes. His interest was explained when I returned with their coffee.

"Christine? Christine Daae?"

"Excuse me?" I stuttered in response. "Have we met?"

"Yes! It's me! Raoul!"

Now hopelessly flustered, I could do nothing but stand and gape stupidly as he began to talk energetically about...everything. His fellow diner looked grumpily at the menu, I could not help but notice. Raoul asked endless questions and asked another before I could even process the previous one. When I noticed my manager watching me suspiciously I finally stopped him.

"Raoul, I need to work. I'm too close to getting fired." He smiled and nodded, took up the menu, and began to order in a slow, serious tone, winking at me. I grinned.

To save my aching hand, I will just say that I ended the night by giving him my number and him giving me a promise to call soon.

He did call quite soon. The next day, in fact, in the hour of free time I had before going to work. I tried to arrange my schedule around his coaxing to go to dinner with him, and we finally worked out a night. I was happy, I cannot deny it. His charm and good looks had me completely fallen for him. Added to this was his link to my past in the happier days of my childhood.

During my week nothing went strangely. I will not say what happened as it is not important. But finally my date with Raoul arrived. Guilt accompanied me that night along with him; I had spent much too much buying new clothes. However, his blue eyes sparkled as I took his arm and he led me to a small blue car that awaited us. The usual glitz and glamour of the city was unknown to me, and we drove in silence for a while as I devoured every site I could see hungrily. Raoul laughed as he saw my face pressed against the window, and I joined him, blushing. He took on a standard date; I hate to say that, but it was. It was dinner at a fine restaurant. During the time we were waiting we talked earnestly. I learned he was studying business at a major university, and that his father had left him quite a large sum of money. However, it was in the hands of his older brother, whom I had seen the previous night at the _Fleur-de-lis_. He made a few jokes on his brother's behalf, and I found that I was heartily enjoying myself.

I blushed when Raoul asked what I was doing with my life. I airily answered that I was trying to stay alive and that I was taking a break from college until I could become stable again. Raoul said he understood and took my hand, pressing it warmly. I found my face becoming heated. I had never had a boyfriend, really. In high school I worked too long and too hard for boys to become a part of my life, and all this attention was coming on rather fast and unexpectedly. Raoul must've sensed my discomfort, because he removed his hand and placed it next to his plate. After that we talked about our families. I had the grievous duty of informing him of my past, and again he took my hand. This time I appreciated it; I had felt tears pricking my eyes, and blinked furiously.

The night passed comfortably enough. The only sign of affection after him taking my hand was another kiss on the cheek as I got out of the car to go up to my apartment. Both of us giggled and blushed as we remembered the last time he had kissed me. Things suddenly started to look much better.

The next day my life suddenly struck rock-bottom. I went to my theater and was greeted by a scowl. After inquiring to his attitude, my boss – Mr. Sorensen – waved a piece of paper around angrily.

"Is this how you plan to get to the top, Christine? Blackmail? Even _I _never thought you would stoop so low to get a lead!" He ranted on for a few more minutes before I cautiously asked if I could at least _see_ the letter, having firmly denied ever sending it. He sniffed furiously and shoved the piece of paper in my hands. It was written in red ink and the handwriting was sloppy.

_Good Sir,_

_It has appeared to me that a certain girl named Christine Daae has unusual potential. I strongly urge you to cast her as the lead role. Know that this is in you and your theatre's best interest. If you do not obey my instructions, I shall be forced to carry out an act which most consider unpleasant, to say it lightly._

It was not signed.

I stood, open-mouthed, and at once demanded why he would think that I, _I!_ would write something such as this. Mr. Sorensen took the letter and ripped it into tiny pieces, shouting at me furiously. Then he threw it at my feet and demanded that I leave. He said he would not give in to petty blackmail, and that the whole thing disgusted him. 'I do not have criminals in my theater,' he insisted.

Now I had no outlet. It was the most horrible feeling I had ever known. Raoul called right in the middle of one of my many sobbing sessions, and he came right over. I could see his surprise as he looked around my two-room apartment. After asking if I really lived here and seeing me cry even harder, he took me in his arms and stroked my hair. My heart nearly stopped as I realized my state; I was sitting in my apartment with two day's worth of ice cream, my mascara had smeared down my cheeks and I was wearing checkered pajama bottoms and a large, baggy sweatshirt. I was probably a sight to see. But Raoul didn't seem to mind. I fell asleep in his arms.

When I woke up my apartment was spotless and there was a bouquet of flowers resting on my nightstand, along with a note: _You have the next three days off. Raoul._

A small, weak smile managed to make itself known.

----

February passed slowly. Raoul and I continued to see each other at regular intervals, making the most of our free time. He took me everywhere in the city. The way he treated me was almost magical. We had now progressed to holding hands, though a kiss on the cheek was so far the only other thing I would allow. I did not want a fast-paced, steamy relationship. I had decided to save my first kiss to a man that I loved dearly. I think I was in love with Raoul then, but not enough to show my true emotions. I was shy around him. He was my first official "boyfriend," and I was wary of his charm.

On Valentine's Day I got an unusual surprise. There was a long red-stemmed rose with a black velvet ribbon tied around the stem that was resting on my nightstand. I thought it extremely romantic and called him right away, not caring if he was in class or not.

"Thank you!" I gushed. "Thank you so much! I love it!" Raoul told me to calm down and explain what I was talking about. When I mentioned the rose he denied ever giving it to me. Confused, I asked him once again, and he confirmed that he had never left me a rose. He was planning on giving me my present tonight. I gave him a feeble, "oh," and he suddenly demanded to know if I was seeing anyone else. I hurriedly said no and reassured him that I had no idea who had given me the rose. Raoul said that he had a class that started ten minutes ago and that he would talk to me tonight.

I sat on my bed and fingered the rose, tugging on the black ribbon. Who in the world would send me a rose? My first thought was Lydia, but she had no idea where I was, and I didn't know either. She could be in China and I wouldn't have the faintest idea. She could even be dead. But I had to force the sickening thought out and instead interestedly examined the flower. All of the thorns had been scraped off, and the bud wasn't fully opened. It smelled very sweet.

I admit it; I was intrigued and flattered. I believed that I had a secret admirer or that it was a silly trick of Raoul's. But the thought that someone knew me and had left a rose for me made me flush with pleasure. The fact that it was left on my bedside scared me a bit, but nothing was stolen and I was not harmed.

There was a ring from my phone. I answered it, hoping it was Raoul, but it was just Breann, a girl I had worked with at my old theater. She said, in a trembling voice:

"Mr. Sorensen is dead. He was found hanging by his neck backstage yesterday."


	3. Greatest Gift

**Greatest Gift**

I sat, shivering on the cold desk of the police station. The had told me that I was required to come down for some standard procedures. Since I had known Mr. Sorensen I was automatically a suspect. And to make matters worse, they knew that I had argued with him before his death. Would I go to jail? Would Raoul think of me as I sat in my cell? Horrible thoughts passed through my mind. I was thinking of the worst that could happen. I could be sentenced to death...Once again shuddering, I hugged myself tightly. It was nearly two a.m., and they didn't show any signs of letting me go soon. A few minutes later, I was called into a small room. I had seen crime shows on television, and looked hesitantly at a large mirror that was in the room. Was someone behind it, watching me as I simply sat there, clasping my hands together for warmth?

A man entered. He said his name was Detective Freestone, and we shook hands. His hand was rough, like gravel, large, and heavy. Much like my father's hands. Detective Freestone simply said that since I had argued with Mr. Sorensen I was a suspect, and that they had to investigate every person that he talked to that day. I wanted to laugh. Mr. Sorensen talked to hundreds of people a day. He offered me some coffee, which I declined. Seeing me eyeing the mirror, he laughed but soon became serious. He asked me what we had argued about. I told him; I had no reason not to.

"Did you blackmail Mr. Sorensen?" he asked. I immediately denied it, saying that I was happy with my position.

"Do you have the letter?" he continued. I shook my head no and explained that Mr. Sorensen and destroyed it. After what seemed like hours of pointless questions getting nowhere, Detective Freestone excused himself. I stared at the mirror, squinting to try and see inside, but it was impossible. I felt like I had done something terribly wrong, even though I hadn't. It was the longest five minutes of my life. Were they going to send me away in handcuffs? Detective Freestone returned, giving me a gentle smile. I clenched my hands together and anxiously waited for his verdict. He seated himself down and once again offered me some coffee. I scowled; _couldn't he hurry up_?

Just then a busy-looking woman hurried in, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand. She waved it around for a minute, and I was reminded of Mr. Sorensen. I bit my tongue, hard. The woman handed it to Detective Freestone, who read it. In a split-second his pallor changed from a ruddy red to a clammy white, and he glanced at me a few times before standing and whispering things into the woman's ear. I couldn't handle the tension and gave a small cry, running my clammy hands over each other and wringing them so that the end result was an ugly pink. Detective Freestone looked at me and forced himself to say calmly:

"You can go, Miss Daae. We're very, very, _very_ sorry for the inconvenience." He escorted me to the police station entrance, and then shut the door hurriedly on me. I breathed a sigh of relief and hurried home to my apartment. Raoul called and sounded put-out when I asked him not to come over. I just needed to be alone and collect myself for a few hours. You cannot imagine what ran through my head because of that little slip of paper…I thought I saw a little flash of red ink…the same handwriting, but then I slapped myself mentally and said that it was impossible. Maybe the paper contained information on the real murderer. But why had Detective Freestone apologized so profusely? I laid down with a sigh and fell asleep.

The next major event that happened in February was the morning of the twenty-first. I had gotten home from work near one in the morning. My manager had made me stay and finish clearing the restaurant. I woke up around ten, showered, and didn't notice anything until I began to tidy up. I noticed a small note on my nightstand. _Christine _was scrawled across the front in an untidy penmanship. Red ink. I gasped and tried to ignore it, foolishly thinking that if I didn't see it it wasn't there. It was. It stayed until I left for work. It was there when I got back. It was there when I woke up again. So I picked it up, my hand shaking as I opened it.

_Love is by itself the greatest gift you will ever receive. _

I stared at it. It was also written in the strange handwriting, and I gave a cry, tore it up, and dropped it in the wastebasket. After that I took the wastebasket out to the dumpster and hurriedly emptied it. Breathing heavily, I returned, my thoughts horribly scrambled. I wanted to run to Raoul - and yet I wanted...to celebrate at the same time. I had a secret admirer! An admirer who would kill for me, apparently…I thought of Raoul and decided that never in his wildest dreams would he take someone's life. I did not want this attention. Maybe if my admirer was not an insane killer and did not enter my house without permission or invitation...

I decided to keep it a secret from Raoul, which I now regret with every fiber of my being. If I could change one thing in my life, that would be it. I would have called Raoul right then and there and told him about it. But I didn't. I passed February pretending as if everything had gone all right. He asked about Mr. Sorensen, and I told him that they had let me go after a questionnaire. I received notes every Sunday morning. Sometimes they were silly sayings, or the silliest poems I have ever seen. I woke up each Sunday hoping that the note wasn't there; it always was. I tried to stay up one Saturday night, but my manager kept me late on Saturdays, and I couldn't do it. Even with some coffee and ice cream I fell asleep as soon as I clicked the T.V. on.

I want to see Raoul so desperately right now.


	4. The Storm

**The Storm**

My burning despair grows each day. I can feel it creeping in, like a shadow. It cannot be stopped or hindered. This is probably the only reason I am still living. I must write these things down. I must. It has become the primary focus in my pitiful life. So I will continue, dear journal, until I cannot anymore. If I end my story here, know that it is not a happy one.

******----**

March arrived, bringing freezing rains and cold winds. Notes were still appearing every Sunday. Sometimes with a rose, sometimes without. I threw the letters away as soon as I read them. The roses I kept until the next Sunday. My feelings were confused beyond belief. Some days I would look forward to the rose lying on my bed stand. Some days I wished that they would all disappear. I wish now that I had gone to the police, but my feelings for them at this particular time were not in the highest respect. Breann now ran the theater, and asked if I would return. I hastily accepted and was soon back into my normal routine, which I hated and loved at the same time. I hated the fact that each day was the same; I needed change, differences in my life. Growing up with change had made me accustomed to it. I loved the fact that I was back in theater. My outlet had returned. Even though my voice and acting skills were still quite deplorable, I was able to give a decent performance a few nights a week. Raoul had become increasingly busy with college work, so our usual dates were not as usual as they had been, or as often as I would have liked them to be.

How I cherish those moments! The carefree laughter of our voices mingling in the chilly spring air. And yes, spring had arrived, bringing hope with it, or so I thought of it as a symbol of new life, a rebirth from my past drudgery. Raoul, when I did see him, had something about him that made me fall more deeply in love with him every single time we talked or simply made eye contact. I was head-over-heels in love but still shy around him. What if he did not return my affection, and I was left looking like a fool? So we kept our distance. Maybe Raoul had the same feelings as I did, I do not know to this day. All I wish now is to run to him and tell him that I love him, confess my worries and fears, tell him that I'm sorry and beg his forgiveness. But alas, that is now impossible, for reasons which I have taken the liberty to write down at a later date.

One Sunday I got a particularly unusual letter. I woke up, almost eagerly that morning. Sure enough it was resting there, along with a rose. I picked up the rose and examined it. Still the black ribbon, still the same sweet-smelling bud. I eagerly picked up the note and read:

_I cannot hold back the storm. I discourage you from seeing Raoul de Chagny._

This note frightened me out of my wits. Usually the notes were soft and gentle, speaking of love and affection. This one seemed almost like a threat. I quickly threw it away along with my rose and left the house, actually afraid that the secret deliverer might be lurking inside, waiting for me.

You cannot imagine the turmoil of feelings that I had that day. I was frightened for Raoul and my life, actually. The last time there had been a threat a death had occurred. I was not stupid; I could put two and two together to get a complete answer. I had been threatened to stop seeing Raoul at the risk of his life.

_I cannot hold back the storm..._

Over the rest of March I seemed to hang over Raoul's shoulder every waking minute. I would call him during the middle of class to see what he was doing. He got annoyed with me once or twice, but I didn't care, as long as he was safe. It was my duty and obligation to look after him after all the trouble I was causing. I wanted to stay by his side every hour of the day, but we were only dating and that was near impossible.

The next Sunday it was back to the old love sayings and the rose. I wondered if perhaps I had imagined it, even that if it was possible to have misread the note. But my fears were confirmed near the end of March when Raoul called me, panting.

"I narrowly avoided a car wreck," he gasped over the phone. I began to cry.

"Don't," he said. "Don't cry. I'm all right, really. Just a little scrape on the forehead, that's all. It was a complete accident, and the idiot who rammed into me is gone. Jerk," he added under his breath, which made me laugh and sob at the same time. I cried myself to sleep that night, though in the morning I told myself I was a silly girl, and that had just been a coincidence. But I could not convince myself and now was a constant nag to Raoul, asking him exactly what happened that day. He inquired as to my peculiar behavior over the past few weeks, and I gave him an excuse that I cannot recall at this time. He didn't inquire further.

Every day I regret my actions. Every day I wish I could go and change them. Every day I wake up feeling hopeless and discouraged. But this is my relief, dear journal, my theater outlet. I can confide my true feelings in you, even if I could not confide them into dear sweet Raoul. I still love him, even after these long months. I do. There's an aching in my heart that I cannot seem to comfort, a peculiar sense of longing not only for the body but for my soul and heart. It is a driving hunger in me that I despise and love at the same time. I want to end my life right now, if it wasn't for you. You are my lifesaver. So long as you remain undiscovered. If you are, oh the heartache it will cause! The pain! Not only for myself, too. I want to throw you away and keep you close at the same time. How miserable I am! But I cannot despair on my own feelings for too long. I must finish.

----

In April I had one of the biggest scares of my life. I was petrified for days. Even now I shudder to think about it. I continued seeing Raoul and we had never been happier. I allowed him to put his arm around my waist now, and tender kisses on the cheek were common. My lips were still saved, though. When I explained this to him he smiled delightedly and told me that he was proud of me for having such a strong will. At this I playfully smacked him on the arm. We were having dinner at a quiet restaurant. The evening was passing comfortably enough. I had taken it upon myself to forget what that peculiar note said, and so far I was doing quite a good job, actually. Raoul and I were discussing politics, something I thoroughly enjoy debating about. Our food finally arrived, after the longest wait. When the waiter finally left Raoul blew a small raspberry that made me snort into my water. He was constantly doing things like that to make me laugh, and he did them when I least expected it. After excusing myself we finally settled into our dinner. Raoul was just taking a sip of his coffee when the most terrible thing happened. He set his mug down and began to cough horribly. I asked him if he was all right, and he merely waved me off, grabbing his napkin and coughing into it violently. His eyes grew watery and he gripped the table so strongly that his knuckles turned white. I tried to touch his hand, but he again waved me off. By then I had become worried. Other couples were staring. I blushed, something I am now ashamed to admit. Suddenly Raoul gasped loudly and fell off his chair onto his side. He began to writhe around horribly, making gasping noises in his throat. His hands clenched awkwardly and his frame arched. I cried out and knelt at his side, feeling his head and looking for a pulse.

"Help me," I muttered, frantically feeling his neck. "_Help me_!"

There was a frantic clicking of cell phone and an uproar in the restaurant. I began to sob, putting my head on his chest and crying horribly. After what seemed like hours the doctors arrived and pried me off of him. They tried to calm me down to tell them what happened. I could not calm down. I kept screaming at myself mentally that it was all my fault that Raoul was almost dead. I could have prevented this by simply not seeing him. Yet I had to be the stupid schoolgirl and flirt with him, no matter the consequences. I was taken to the hospital and spent two days in the waiting room, crying softly or staring blankly at the wall.

I was finally allowed to see him. I was afraid of his condition, but he looked the same, though considerably paler. He opened his palm and I took his hand. They were cold.

"The doctors say some nuts got into my food," he said weakly. He gave a half-smile, which was more of a grimace, trying to keep the situation light-hearted. "Deathly allergic to nuts, you know."

"Don't!" I cried, "Don't do that!" I put my head on his chest and cried awfully. Raoul put a head on my hair and stroked it a few times. When he finally convinced me to go home, it is needless to say how I felt. I stayed up all night and called in sick the next day. After a week Raoul insisted that I go back to work and try to get over the whole thing. He said he didn't know why this was bothering me so, and that I was being silly. I pretended to agree, and I hate myself.


	5. There Was No Rose

******There Was No Rose**

_This month_. Sometime this month I was going to stop seeing Raoul. It was for both of our wellbeing. I did cry quite a bit at the thought, but after a week or so into June it just became something that was there in my mind, something second nature, like breathing. Yet every time I told myself to tell him, I couldn't do it. My lips would open at the dinner table, and all I would do was sit there and stare at him, slack-jawed and looking ridiculous. He would laugh jovially at me and we would joke around about it for the rest of the evening. I teased him that it was his good-looks that had me staring. May passed, and I had a sickening feeling in my stomach. Every day I would wake up dreading what would happen to Raoul. And on the first Sunday in June I got the harshest note; there was no rose with it.

_Stop seeing Raoul de Chagny if you value his life._

I called him right then and let out a sob of relief to find that he was all right. I asked if we could go out Monday night, and he agreed. The rest of Sunday was spent trying to hold back the tears.

We drove in silence, comfortable for him, awkward for me. It was a warm summer's night, and I left my light sports jacket in his car. He took me to Central Park when it was sunset and we walked hand-in-hand through the park, enjoying each other's company. I tried not to dwell on the horrible moment when I would have to inform him of our parting, and instead memorized every curve and line on his hand, squeezing it once in a while. He would respond by giving my hand a gentle kiss. At that moment I felt my heart and mind would burst. We became lost in the many trails of the park, finally coming to a secluded spot hidden behind some trees and bushes. I giggled when I thought of the last time he had taken me to a secluded spot.

"Do you still have cooties?" I whispered, smiling. He laughed and shook his head.

"I hope not."

My breathing became shorter as he leaned in. My head was spinning and went numb the second before his lips touched mine. It is quite pointless to try to describe the kiss. Simply know that it was wonderful. Right now I can still remember the taste of his lips, which are indescribable. His hands were placed gently on my neck, barely brushing my skin and it felt inflamed after his hands left. We pulled apart and I burst into tears.

"What's wrong?" Raoul asked, trying to comfort me. "Did you not want that? Did I do something wrong? What is it?"

I shook my head and hugged him tightly. He pressed his lips to my blonde hair and rubbed my back. I wanted to kiss him again, but felt that my actions might be too forward, so I hugged him tightly. I really never wanted to let go, and we simply held each other for minutes on end. When I finally felt his arms loosen and we pulled apart he looked at my lips, which I licked, unconscious of my action at the time. He touched them lightly, so very lightly, for a second.

"They're…no longer saved," he said feebly. Once again he kissed me, but this time lightly, his lips simply brushing mine. When he looked at me I saw a little bit of boyish hope in his eyes. I pretended to shiver and asked to be taken home. He nodded and we eventually found our way back to the car. We drove back to my apartment, my hand resting by his leg. I wanted to put my head on his shoulder, but I was still aware of his thoughts of me being too brash. We pulled up to my building and he escorted me to the door. This time it was awkward. I fiddled with my keys and lightly say that I had a good time that night. He rewarded me with another kiss, though this time it was much more heated. His lips moved down to my neck, and at once the unbidden thought of the letter flashed into my mind. I gave a cry and pushed him away.

"I'm sorry!" he apologized at once. "Was I rushing you?" I quickly shook my head and looked at his feet.

"Raoul…I…we…I cunseeyou," I muttered quickly. He peered at me curiously and asked me to repeat myself.

"I…I can't see you…anymore…."

My eyes welled with tears and dripped onto his shoes and the pavement. He took my face in his hands and forced me to look up at him.

"Why?" he asked slowly and clearly, his large blue eyes pleading. I blinked and lowered my eyes to his chin. "Look at me," he commanded. I did; I would have jumped off a cliff right then if he had asked me to.

"Why?" he repeated. I gulped and shrugged.

"Just things…happening…and I…can't…not when - when…you…"

I wanted to die and disappear. His eyes were full of different emotions; anger, sorrow, pleading, and a hint of jealousy. I sniffed, unlocked the door, and was about to go up to my room to try to wash away everything when he grabbed my arm.

"Is it someone else?" he asked hoarsely. I shook my head and tugged my arm out of his hand. He grabbed the back of my coat. "What is it then? Is it something I said or did? Christine? Did I rush you tonight? Christine!"

I smiled through my tears as I slipped out of the jacket, dashed inside, and shut the door on his face. The stairs flew under my feet and Raoul's pounding fainted into a dull silence as I reached my apartment door. It was a gloomy welcome; the small, shack-like rooms that I had been comfortable to call "home" had suddenly turned into a dungeon, and I threw myself on my ugly iron-stand bed and wept.

Raoul had actually physically forced me to stay put. That meant he didn't want me to leave, and that meant he loved me. Right? I sincerely hope that my interpretation is correct, because if Raoul walked up to me right now and told me that he did not love me, I believe I would actually kill myself. I wonder now what has happened to him...Does he have a new lover? Someone he holds at night? Tears well up at the very thought. Or is he still thinking of me, sadly, angrily? I somehow doubt he would sit at home and wallow in self-pity, which makes me upset and furious at the same time. I am ashamed of my own feelings.

I cried quite noisily over the next few hours. My neighbor, an old lady to whom I had grown rather fond of, came over to ask about the noise.

"I - I - sorry - I - I - just - c - can't -"

That was all that came out for about three minutes. I was practically hyperventilating because of my tears. But Ms. Valerius ushered me inside her flowery apartment, had me sit down on an old, musty armchair, and made me some tea. Since I had grown to love Ms. Valerius over the years, I quite shyly called her "Mama Valerius" one day. She threw her wrinkled head back, laughed, and refused to answer to anything else ever since.

"Th - thank - you - Mama," I gasped, taking the tea in trembling hands. I promptly spilled it, which caused me to burst into another bout of tears. Mama Valerius quickly cleaned it up and poured me another cup, but she set it on the table instead of handing it to me. After that she rubbed my back with her old shriveled hands and comforted me with small _shushing_ noises.

It took a good twenty minutes to get me into a calm enough state to pick up my tea without breaking the cup, and after the cup was empty Mama Valerius asked me what happened. I muttered something about boy problems. Her eyes sparkled with delight and she clapped her hands a few times, poured me another cup, and set her face in a business-like way.

"I'm assume he was the one that broke your heart?"

At this I hesitated. I wanted to tell Mama everything, but more than half of me wanted to keep my notes a secret. There was hardly anything anymore that I could call my own, and my "secret admirer" was something that I wanted to keep to myself. If I told Mama about me breaking off with Raoul, then she would ask why, and I would have to tell her about my notes and roses and the threatening letter that I had received weeks before. When I told her this she would most likely become scared and call the police, and I didn't really trust the police very much after the whole affair with Mr. Sorensen. Something simply wasn't right about the way they abruptly shoved me out of their building. So as that ran through my head in a split-second, I looked at my hands and nodded. She took one warmly and gave it a squeeze.

"Men are idiots," she said wisely. "Take it from someone with over sixty years of experience."

I nodded, thanked her for the tea, and went back to my own apartment. She commanded me to call her if I needed anything

"Except Saturday nights," she called out happily. "That's when I play bingo with some friends!"

I smiled, nodded, and shut the peeling door.


	6. Now

******Now**

The rest of the week dragged by more slowly than I could ever imagine. Raoul left many messages, but after two weeks went by he eventually stopped calling. It made me cry. He obviously thought I didn't love him, but that was so far from the truth! I love him still, and I know that I will always love him.

June came. This was the warm summer time that young couples would meander down the streets, hand-in-hand, laughing carelessly and exchanging light kisses. I watched them, jealous and angry, from the dark window of the _Fleur-de-lis_. As long as the notes kept coming I could not keep seeing Raoul. So one Saturday night I decided to stay up - all night. No matter what it took, even if I had to tape my eyes open, I was going to stay up. I prepared myself by picking up some more supplies for coffee, an extra tub of ice-cream, and a few scary movies. I didn't change into my pajamas; I didn't want to get too comfortable and fall asleep, and I armed myself with a large, ugly vase that had been left in the back of my apartment since I had moved in and two five-pound weights. So with that I settled down to a long night.

I got past the first movie all right, except by then I was paranoid and skittish; I don't do well with scary movies. After clicking on every light in the house I popped in the second one and grabbed my third bowl of ice-cream. I then heard a slight noise in the kitchen. Giving a small squeak, I shakily put down my bowl, took one of my five-pound weights and slowly went into the kitchen. I tried to keep my breathing in check, but that's impossible. No matter what happens, when you're hiding and trying to stay quiet, your breathing noise immediately goes up and gives you away. I opened the kitchen door, my weight held high, but it drooped when nobody was there. Giving a small, giggly chide to myself, I decided I might as well grab another mug of coffee while I was in there. I had taken two large gulps while sitting on the couch when I noticed that the coffee tasted funny, so I set it down and concentrated on the TV again. But soon my eyes became heavy. It was strange; because coffee was not supposed to make you tired….My last conscious thought before I fell asleep was that someone had put something in my coffee.

When I woke up, after I had laid there, on the floor, trying to clear the fog, after I recalled what had happened last night, I immediately checked myself. When I saw that there appeared to be no bruises or cuts or that no damage had to been done to me, I checked my house, and saw, with a grip of terror, that the note had been placed on my nightstand. It was always there! I was tempted for the millionth time to just throw it away, but like every other time I opened it.

_Soon, Christine._

I practically ran screaming out of my apartment. _Soon_? What did that mean? I was going to die, be raped, kidnapped? What was going on? All of next week I was completely paranoid. I glared at perfectly normal taxi drivers, glanced behind me every three seconds when walking down the street, and couldn't remember tables at work. People at the theater and restaurant inquired as to my strange behavior, but I laughed them off nervously and told them that I didn't know what they were talking about. I was afraid to go to sleep every night. On Saturday night I "accidentally" fell asleep on Mama Valerius's couch. I could hear her laughing as she threw a blanket over me and went to her own room. But when I was finally forced to return to my apartment to change for work, I found the note was there! I screamed, clutched my hair, picked it up, and read:

_Very soon now, Christine._

I felt faint and had to sit on my bed for a few minutes before quickly getting ready for work. I had even locked my apartment the night before! By now I was scared silly. When I got to the theater I was fifteen minutes late; I had changed taxi cabs frequently, afraid to be with one stranger too long. Breann greeted me with a frown.

"You're priming the extra set pieces," she said snappily. "Meg has already started. With any luck you might be able to help her finish."

I apologized and blamed my manager at the restaurant, grabbed a smock, and ran backstage, where Meg Giry had already become elbows-deep in primer. I knelt by her, grabbed a brush, and began to paint peevishly, silently. Meg gave me a grin; I gave her a snarl.

"What's your problem?" she asked, still her happy smile drooping slightly; she could always find something to be happy about. It was one of the things I hated and loved about her. After shrugging moodily I splattered paint everywhere. Meg rubbed some out of her hair quietly, and I blushed a bit at my anger. I was taking it out on everyone else.

"Sorry," I muttered.

"Fine," she said, smiling once again and picking up her brush. "You all right?"

I nodded. She frowned, but didn't say anything else. I left a few hours later, reluctant. I didn't want to go home. I wonder what has happened to Meg. It's been at least a year since I have seen her last. The last time I saw her she was dating an older man named Craig…I wonder now if she is still with him.

----

The rest of the week passed much the same way. I arrived late, and was now afraid of losing both of my jobs. I just could not force myself to be with a complete stranger for more than a few minutes. And everyone seemed so forbidding and threatening during those few days. Everyone had a mean scowl on their face. I was quite alone, and quite frightened. On Saturday night I went over to Mama Valerius's house, intent on falling asleep on her couch again, but I found that Mama had guests over. Two other old ladies, one named Ms. Foster and the other Ms. Durrn. Or so Mama proudly told me as she took me inside to introduce me. I smiled strangely, my lips twitching nervously. Strangers. More strangers. Even two old ladies frightened me.

"I just came over to thank you for letting me sleep on your couch last week," I lied to Mama. She nodded happily.

"You're welcome over here any time," she told me, fondly patting my cheek. I slowly backed out, sighing. Going back to my apartment sluggishly, I decided to not stay up. Two weeks ago I had been drugged…what would happen to me after that?

So I fell into a nervous doze on my thin mattress, tossing and turning all night, curling up and sprawling the next. When pale sunlight splashed across my tightened face I yawned and sat up, frowning as my neck popped loudly. I looked at the note glaring at me from my nightstand. I picked it up with trembling hands and almost ripped the note as I jerked it open. One scrawled red word glared at me from the white piece of paper.

_Now._


	7. Stolen Freedom

**Stolen Freedom**

Before I could read it a second time something was flung over my eyes and tied tightly. I screamed - quite loudly, I remember - but as if in answer a sizeable piece of coarse cloth was stuffed in my mouth. My arms were seized and pulled behind my back. It strained my shoulders and as a result of the awkward binding and I gave another scream in the back of my throat, then tried to cough, which resulted in my tongue touching the putrid piece of fabric. I felt large arms wrap around my waist and lift me as if I hardly weighed anything. I began to kick, my legs striking anything and everything. But I was barefoot since I had been rudely kidnapped in my pajamas, and my heel collided with the edge of the door jamb. Again I cried out in pain. My kidnapper and I made quite a racket going down the old, creaky stairs. I was writhing horribly, squirming in any way that I could. Even now I wonder why no one had heard us going down. Where was Mama and my other neighbors? I shudder to think that something could have happened to them because of me. And when I felt us emerge outside, didn't anyone see us? Admittedly it was early, but someone should have been out! It caused me a few sleepless nights afterwards to ponder why no one had seen, no one had stopped us.

I felt myself being thrown in a new-smelling car with leather seats, and the door was slammed behind me. Without another second the car began to drive. I quickly pressed myself against the door on the other side, trying to find the handle and open it with my foot, elbow, chin, _anything_, but I searched in vain for the better part of five minutes. I heard a dry, bone-chilling chuckle on the other side of the car, and curled into a ball on the floor, tears already running down my skin. Was he going to kill me? The thought of the secret admirer automatically linked with rape, and that sent me into a hysterical sobbing fit. I cried uninterrupted for quite some time. I do not know how long it was, but I finally stopped when the car stopped. Lifting my head slightly, the humming of surrounding cars reached my ears. The car must have stopped at a red light. I only had one chance, so I turned my head away and began to probe the gag with my tongue, near dry-heaving each time. It took a few minutes; thankfully the lights in New York are long. I had just spit it out when the car began to inch forward. After lifting my head higher and opening my mouth, I let out a howling scream which made the man sitting next to me start and exclaim in surprise. I was rewarded with a heavy blow to the cheek, which knocked my head against the door. The horrid cloth was put back in my mouth again, this time practically stuffed down my throat. My shoulders were seized and I was put on the leather seat, this time sitting upright. I sat stiffly; I had no idea what to do. Should I cry, fight, scream, plead? There was a deafening silence as I prepared myself for my horrendous fate.

After endless minutes sitting in this position I relaxed slightly, still sitting, but relieved of the tense muscles in my back. I was thirsty, and the car was hot. The man sitting next to me was not driving; he was on my right side, and when I let my foot wander for a few minutes I felt the back of the driver's seat. But the driver and the man remained mute. Without warning the car stopped suddenly, and I pitched forward. My nose smashed against the seat in front of me; it must have been comical if I had been watching, but I was feeling quite far from humorous. My eyes were stinging with humiliation and my nose was throbbing horribly. I could feel cold, pungent blood trickling down onto my lip. I was sweaty, hungry, tired, and confused, not to mention frightened out of my wits. How long had I been traveling in this car? Where was I going? These and other endless questions were hurtling through my mind, making it ache with the mere frustration of my situation. I do not want to waste paper with my angst; we drove like this for a few more anxious hours before the car crunched to a stop.

I felt a whoosh of warm air greet me as the man opened the door. I suddenly did not want to leave the car and curled in the corner, bringing my knees to my chest and curling my toes. But the man laughed again and dragged me out of the car. I hissed sharply as I put my bare feet down; it was gravel, from what I could tell. The rocks were putting pressure on my bruised foot, and I favored it heavily as I was pulled across a wide driveway. I finally felt my toes hit a stone step, and I jumped onto it gratefully. But I heard a key click and a door lock open, and I immediately went limp. I would not go into that house! You have no idea how much I struggled when I was picked up again. Even when my foot hit the door again I did not stop. I kicked the man in the stomach and shins, striking him in any way I could. Finally he dropped me. I hit the floor with a loud cry and the air was knocked out of my lungs. Tears were again in my eyes. I felt the man kneel down beside me.

"Get up," he commanded. I ignored him and worked on taking my breath back.

"Get up," he instructed again. His voice had lowered dangerously. I rolled away from him, and as soon as his hand was on my shoulder another voice, a beautiful voice, rang out, echoing around the room.

"Enough!"

The first time I heard Erik's voice I seriously thought for a split-second that I had died, gone to heaven, and that an angel was speaking for me. The man kneeling next to me immediately stood. I heard him stutter for a minute before another presence was felt. I heard the other man hiss suddenly.

"I tell you that she is supposed to be unharmed and you bring her here bound and gagged, with blood pouring out of her nose, her cheek black and blue, and her feet raw?"

"Well - I - she - "

The other man stuttered hopelessly for a few seconds before he stopped sharply. The new man knelt down beside me and I felt my hair pushed out of my face.

"Christine, excuse us for a moment."

He stood and left with the other man. I heard a door slam quite loudly. Even now I do not want to think about what happened. I shudder. I have never heard that man again. But those thoughts did not cross my mind. I was busy shivering; it had dropped forty degrees, and the perspiration from my body seemed to freeze. Icy air was creeping through my clothes and clinging to my skin. I sat up, wincing as I wrinkled my nose. There was another creak as the door opened, and only one person came back. It was the second man, the kinder man. He knelt down beside me, and I shied away from his presence.

"Good evening, Christine," he said to me. The gag was gently taken out of my mouth. I gasped at the free air as if it were chocolate, and that's what it tasted like to me at first. Crisp, cool air. I waited for him to take the blindfold off, but he only asked me to stand up, which I did, shakily. He took my arm and gently pulled me. I gasped as I walked; my feet were still sore and aching.

"Would you like me to carry you?" the man asked.

"No!" I said quickly, a little too quickly, and I can only imagine Erik's face when I think back on it. I heard him open a door and he took me inside another chilly room. He pushed me down gently on a a large, overstuffed chair. Something was tugging at my wrists, and soon the bonds were off. A sharp pain shot through my arm as something prodded the open wound; I later decided it had been Erik's long finger, unconsciously touching the raw flesh. I bit back a gasp and, feeling something suddenly around my face, I leaned back quickly, but my head was stopped by the back of the chair. The man was taking the blindfold off. I blinked my eyes a few times; it was rather dark in the room.

The first thing that stuck out really odd, believe it or not, was Erik's peculiar clothing. He had a long cloak that hung down to his ankles, a brocaded vest and cravat, and an evening jacket. I noticed he had long, thin hair that was brushed away from his face and yet framed it at the same time. And then I saw his mask. It was black and covered his entire face. I could only see his eyes, which were yellow and glowed like fire. He was staring at me with such intensity that I blushed.

"Please," I stuttered. "Don't hurt me...I don't have a lot of money, but you can have it - "

He silenced me with his hand. "I did not bring you here for that."

"Then why did you?"

He blinked a few times and stood up. "Come with me, Christine."

I frowned but was still afraid to disobey him, so I stood slowly. He turned and led me out of the room. I glanced around quickly and saw that it was a pretty library. There was no window. He led me out into a hall. Highly polished doors lined each side. At the last polished door on the left, he stopped. After pulling a key from his vest pocket he glanced at me and unlocked the door. I kept back when he opened it.

"This is your room, Christine."

"My room?" I repeated, taking a step back. "My room? You're going to...keep me here?"

He stared at me for a minute and said, as if it was the most obvious thing, "Of course."

Tears started in my eyes. I blinked furiously and hastily wiped my eyes with my wrists.

"I will leave you an hour to get freshened up," he told me matter-of-factly. I went into the dim room hesitantly and turned around to see that he was closing the door on me again. I heard the click of the lock and quickly jiggled the handle.

"What? No! Don't lock me - ! Please!" I pounded on the door, bruising my palm. With a cry I turned around and examined the room. It was also lit like a tavern, but it was huge and lavish, larger than my own apartment. A bed with crimson sheets was standing in the center, with nightstands on either side to match the wood and a beautiful vanity placed against the wall. A matching wardrobe towered to the ceiling. There was another door that was a few feet away from the bed. What was going on? I screamed and kicked the door, lightly though, so I did not damage my already tender feet. I was angry and afraid, and I reacted like an animal. I am not one of those people who contain their emotion. When I am sad, I cry. When I am angry, I scream. When I am hungry or thirsty, I complain.

Right then I was angry. I pulled over the nightstands, snarling and feeling only a small glimmer of satisfaction. Next I went over to the wardrobe and pulled it open. I did have to take a moment, however, and eye the clothes. They were all very pretty, and I almost regretted pulling them out one by one, but I quickly got over the feeling. My task was complete when I finished ripping the sheets off of the bed. I sighed softly and sat down in the middle of the mess. Suddenly feeling incredibly dirty, I realized that I had not showered since yesterday, and was still wearing my pajamas, which needed to be washed. Or burned, I thought, smiling bitterly. I grabbed my greasy hair and wrinkled my nose in disgust. Then I winced and rubbed it gingerly. It was still sore, along with my cheek and foot. I wallowed in self-pity until the man came back. He knocked.

"Christine?"

I didn't respond. He unlocked the door and slowly opened it. "You are decent, are you not?" When he saw me sitting amid the mess, I was at first terrified he was going to become angry, but he simply said softly, "You have certainly made yourself at home."

I glared at him. "Let me go home," I demanded. Again he blinked at me. I repeated my sentence over and over again, eventually turning to tears and crying.

"I cannot," he said finally, and I jumped up.

"Why not? What did I do? Do I deserve this? What was it?" I held my arms out pleadingly.

"I will give you one more hour, Christine," he said slowly to me. He turned around and once again locked me in. I screamed at him long after he was gone. Giving a shuddering sigh, I slid down the door, curled into a ball, and fell asleep, exhausted.


	8. Because I Love You

**Thanks very much for the reviews! If you write you must know how encouraging they are!**

**I am not pleased with this chapter. The emotions are sloppy and the wording is horrible. However, we must all press on. Please keep reviewing! And those who are reading but not reviewing... :: mutters darkly and stalks off ::**

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**Because I Love You**

I heard him knock a few times, but was too exhausted and comfortable to move. Finally he left me in peace. When I had gotten enough sleep I stretched, yawning widely. Picking my way through the mess that littered the floor I went over to the door and nearly smiled as I saw a white tiled bathroom. A large tub was tucked away into the corner. I glanced around nervously. I needed a bath horribly. Deciding to postpone the moment I went over to the sink. A large mirror hung over it, and inside were different items; shampoo, soaps, perfumes, combs, hair ties, and such. I blushed to see that underneath the sink all of my "feminine needs" would be provided for. I finally forced myself to fill the tub, and only when I had turned off the water did I strip down and quickly dip in. It was probably the quickest bath that I had ever taken. I rubbed shampoo in my hair, soap down my arms and legs, and I was out, wrapping a large white towel firmly around myself. There were still suds on my ankles. Once again, I did not want to put on the clothes, but I eventually grabbed some jeans and a lacey pink shirt and slipped them on. I could not find a dryer, so I pulled my hair up into a thick bun. And after that I waited, sitting on the floor in a cross-legged position. I was busily examing a full-length mirror that hung by the wardrobe when he knocked again.

"Christine?"

I stood up as he opened the door. He looked me up and down. "I'm glad to see you...tidied up," he said finally. He bade me to follow him, and I did so. I had been having mood swings, first hopeful, then thoughtful, then angry, then depressed. I was quiet as he led me down the hall. He opened each door for me and softly told me what each room was. I was shown a study, a library, and a sitting room. And he lastly took me to a dining room. A small, pretty chandelier hung above the table, lighting the room dimly. I sighed. Wasn't anything in this house warm or bright? He pulled out a chair for me. I saw that a plate was laid out. I stared at the tantilizing food for a split-second but remembered my coffee and then eyed it with mistrust.

"You may eat, Christine," he said encouragingly to me. I shook my head.

"All I want is to go home," I whispered. He sighed softly and remained silent. My stomach was growling ferociously. I could not remember the last thing I had eaten, really. Why was I here? What was he doing, giving me an enourmous room and feeding me? I was a prisoner, for heaven's sake! Why was he giving me all this luxury? I jumped up and threw the plate on the floor, giving a shriek of rage. The china plate shattered loudly. I turned to him, giving my eyes the coldest look I could muster.

"Who are you? What am I doing here? What do you want with me? Why - where am I?" I screamed all of these things to him and other things similar, trying to stir some emotion, but he remained cold and composed. I ran around him and found that the door was locked. Locked doors! How I hate them! Always, I am restricted, held prisoner! Even now, after all this time, he still locks the doors. One time I asked him, and he simply told me, 'Old habit,' and would not say anything else about it.

I used my only defence that I knew at the moment, and curled into a ball on the floor.

"Compose yourself," he said quietly. "We have much to do today." I curled tighter, burying my head into my knees, trying not to press my nose too hard into my legs.

"Christine, stand up," the man said. His voice was still quiet, but it had unmistakable anger and frustration in it. I stood right up. Something in his voice sent chills down my spine. I followed him out of the dining room, and he took me to the first door on the right. He opened it.

"This door is never locked," he told me. I leaned in and shuddered. It led down to a narrow staircase that spiraled down into blackness. It appeared as if it were going down to the center of the earth, to hell. I hoped he wouldn't take me down there. I couldn't stand it! But he went down a few steps, and when he saw that I wasn't following he stopped. I planted my feet and crossed my arms, glaring.

"I'm not moving until you tell me who you are." I didn't think he would answer me, but, surprisingly enough, he did.

"I am Erik."

Well, that didn't tell me much. At least I knew his name. I have grown to love and hate his name. I pressed him further.

"And why I'm here."

He stared at me for a long, long time.

"Because I love you."


	9. To Sing

**One thousand hugs for the reviews! **

**About the writing style: the thing I'm trying to get across is that Christine is _not _a professionally trained writer, and this is her journal. These are her feelings and the way she saw these things happen. I'm trying to keep it as journal-like as possible and not go into a flat-out third person narrative. **

**Like some people have said, the stories are getting too similar, and I wanted this one to be at least a _tad_ different from the others. Thanks again, and constructive criticism is my favorite!**

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**To Sing**

Love...me? I laughed shakily and gave a weak attempt at a smile.

"You're joking...right?" I demanded, my voice containing hope in it.

"I assure you that this is the farthest thing from a joke," he said seriously. His eyes were glowing.

My next thoughts were of insanity, and, indeed, sometimes I still think that Erik is insane. I gave another laugh, though this one was strange and hollow, and backed away a few steps, shaking my head.

"Love - you - I - no!" I said loudly. "You can't love me! You can't! I'm ugly! I'm fat! Look!" I pinched my stomach. "My ears and nose are too small!"

He let me rant about my imperfections uninterrupted for quite some time. When I had listed everything I waited, breathless, for him to say something, anything.

"Untrue, and they are all merely trifles. The point, Christine, is that I love you." He said this all rather fast, as if wanting to spit it out before it left a bad taste in his mouth. I shook my head and laughed again.

"But you don't even know me! You don't know anything about me! You don't know what I like, who I like, where I come from!"

"Quite the contrary. I know that your favorite color is green, that you were in love with Raoul de Chagny - " at this his eyes hardened visibly " - and that you moved around quite a bit when you were younger, but finally settled in New Jersey with your widowed mother and sister."

"How do you know this?!" I shrieked. I didn't really want him to answer, and he didn't. He simply waited for me to say something else, which I refused. And then it all clicked. In the rush of the day I had all but forgotten the Sunday notes, written in red ink, which spoke of love, and how something would be soon. This was the man! I leaned against the wall for support.

He had killed Mr. Sorensen.

_He had tried kill Raoul!_

"It's - it's you!" I cried hysterically, clutching my waist as if it was a shield against him.

"Excuse me?" he replied calmly, patiently. "Please explain yourself, Christine."

Quickly shaking my head, I muttered out stiffly, "I think...I would like to go to my room..._now._" Shrinking when he walked past me I followed him at quite a distance was we made our way down the hall. When he unlocked the door I darted inside and slammed it shut. Even though he locked it, I barricaded myself against the door. He was a homicidal maniac! At first I thought it was impossible that he could really love me, and I told him so many times when I had just arrived. He would shake his head. It makes me feel like I'm boasting as I write these things down, but please know, dear journal, that I do so with abhorrence, and yes, mixed with a bit of flattery. Modesty cannot be a block when it comes to writing down these things. Erik loves me. I have had too many things happen to me to deny it anymore. And it is not some kind of simple love; it is an obsessive, fanatical love.

Back to my pitiful state; after that I looked around my room and gasped. It was clean! Everything had been put back into its rightful place. The sheets looked as if they had just been laundered, the clothes folded neatly, and the nightstands realigned. That meant someone else was in this house! My first thought was the man who had kidnapped me, but I doubted anyone like that could stand to clean up their dinner plate. I (foolishly) searched under the bed, in the wardrobe, and in the bathroom, but no one was there. Sometimes when it's completely silent in the house, when I hold my breath and listen, I can hear footsteps upstairs. That is, I think, where the other people are. The people who cook and clean in the house.

The house. I have been here long enough to work it out. There are three floors; mine is the ground floor, the floor that has the door to the outside on it. There is a floor above mine, where the other people are, where the cooking and laundry takes place. And then there is the floor below mine, underground, where Erik is. It's cold and dark down there. When I finally agreed - well, more was forced - to come out of my room several hours later Erik took me down there first. I suppose I should record what happened.

We walked in silence. I was feeling weak because I had not eaten since...I don't know when. Days seem to fade here into some kind of neverending night. When we finally got to the bottom I shivered. It is very cold down there; I usually grab a jacket if he asks me to come with him. The staircase is in the middle of a circular room aligned with doors. There are five doors down there. I have seen four of the rooms. Erik took me to the door that was exactly opposite the bottom step and unlocked it. He stepped back to allow me inside first, and I went in shakily. It is Erik's pride and joy, his music room. A grand pipe organ takes up one whole wall. A large fainting couch is stuffed away in a corner, and a baby grand piano is also placed in there. The rest of the empty space is covered by tables - tables groaning under the weight of paper; Erik's compositions. It is a rather messy room, actually, but he seems to know where each one of his songs are. They are all written on old, crinkly pieces of paper. Everything is lighted by candles. Each time I go down there I think about the fire hazards.

"Why don't you have electricity?" I asked him. He was picking his way towards the organ.

"This room was built after the house, after the electricians left."

"Well, you could call and ask them to install it," I suggested, half-thinking that if anyone came to the house I could escape. But he seemed to know what I was thinking and glared at me.

"I enjoy my privacy," he said coldly. He grabbed a folder resting on the organ bench and took out some pieces of paper. Then he faced me business-like.

"The other reason I have brought you here Christine, and it is equally important, is to sing."

At this I laughed for real. "Sorry. I can't."

"Of course you can," he snapped. I gulped at his quick tempermental change. This man had killed...he would probably slit my throat in a whim if he grew angry with me. And I do want to live.

"I mean...I can sing...but not well," I mumbled, trying to placate him.

"That is why I intend to teach you."


	10. A Surreal Feeling

**A Surreal Feeling**

I refused to let him teach me at first. I didn't want to learn how to sing like this. But eventually his cold anger and the sudden thought of his murdering habit made me submit meekly. He then informed me of my schedule, which I was to follow strictly unless he said otherwise. I would wake, eat, spend three hours training my voice (I remember swaying at that), and then eat lunch. The afternoon would then be devoted to lessons, and I could not help but laugh at this.

"Lessons?"

"You do not want your mind to go to waste, now, do you?"

"I suppose not," I muttered quietly. After dinner I was to spend another hour with him in his music room. I was barely listening; my body was shaking in protest for the food I had kept from it.

"Christine!" He spoke my name sharply, and I snapped back into reality. I could see his eyes narrow slightly. "Were you listening?" I gave a sluggish nod and my knees shook. Putting a shaky hand on my sweaty forehead, I muttered:

"I need to eat something."

He nodded quickly and grabbed my arms. I feebly tried to wave him off, disliking the contact immensely. His fingers are so long and I don't believe he's aware that he hurts me when he leads me like that. However, I didn't protest because I was trying to save my strength for climbing the stairs. When he offered to carry me again I drew up a large amount of breath and shouted, "No!" in his face. I didn't see his eyes because he was busy unlocking the door to the dining room. As if by magic a plate and glass was laid out for me when we entered he pulled out the chair for me and then placed himself in the corner, watching me silently. The first time he watched me eat was torture. I could feel my face growing red, yet he didn't seem to have any intention of leaving soon. I didn't want to talk, so I didn't ask him to leave. I think it might have been a little heartless, too. When I had finally finished he unlocked the door and I followed him down to his music room.

"We must begin right away," he told me; he actually sounded happy. My eyebrows raised and I nodded.

"Stand there," he instructed, motioning to a spot he had cleared right beside the organ bench. When I complied he pulled out some paper and handed it to me. My hands were shaking out of embarrassment. I had never sung solo and never thought I would. He removed his gloves and I saw that his fingers are long, white, and skeletal-looking. He glanced at me and then played a note. I hit it rather shakily, but he didn't stop and went slowly up the keyboard. On the D my voice cracked. He sighed.

"We have much to work on," he muttered.

I didn't think the three hours would ever end that day. It seemed like it dragged on forever and I thought I was getting worse. He spent the whole time correcting my posture and breathing. When he finally said we could quit both of us were angry and frustrated. Giving me an annoyed sigh he glanced at me, glaring, and went over to the baby grand piano, where he began to dig through the papers that littered the top of it. I stood, seething, and then noticed the paper – blank paper. Not really thinking about it, I took a piece, folded it up, and stuffed it in my back pocket. He didn't notice; the noise he was making muffled the noise I made. I glanced around, unsure of what to do with myself, and then saw a small box of old-looking fountain pens. Surely he wouldn't notice if one was missing….So I grabbed one of those, too, and hastily concealed it in the folds of my shirt. After waiting another minute I made a small noise in my throat. He stood up straight as if coming out of a trance and looked at me. I immediately thought he knew that I had stolen his paper and pen and averted my eyes, blushing.

"Can I go back to my room now…please?" I whispered. He nodded and only when I was safely locked away in my room did I breathe freely. I knelt down on the ground in front of my nightstands and feverishly began to write. It was to Raoul, and even though I knew that it would never reach him, it still felt extremely satisfying to vent out my anger and frustration. When I had finally signed it and covered the paper with kisses I folded it into a tiny square and shoved it in the far corner of the drawer that contained my unmentionables. I sighed and pulled out a nightgown; Erik does not buy me any clothes except gowns. When I had put it on hastily I slowly crawled into the large bed. It was a surreal feeling. I cried myself to sleep.

----

The days went by…or so I thought. I didn't know if I ate dinner at four in the morning or ten at night. There is no sunlight or clocks in the house. No windows, either. I asked Erik about that, too. He said that bright sunlight hurt his eyes, and then I complained about how cold it was on my floor, which was true; it is always chilly everywhere in that house.

"I will warm it for you," he told me. I was in his music room after dinner. I would sit on the old couch in the corner and Erik would write. I didn't know why he needed me to be there; his love was still false during that time. He would glance at me occasionally, making me squirm under his gaze. But I took that time to daydream about Raoul. I wondered if the police were searching for me. I had no way of knowing; there aren't any telephones or televisions in this house. I took pleasure in closing my eyes and remembering the kiss we shared. It made me feel much better each time. But sometimes I would carry my dreams on into the music lesson. Erik grew angry if I dozed off when he was trying to tell me something. When I think on it, I can't really blame him, but I didn't think he had the right to demand anything from me, since he had already stolen what was my most prized possession; my freedom. I had taken it for granted, of course, like so many people. If I was released right now I swear I would live life as if each day were my last! But continuing my short attention span period; it would usually lead to an argument, which was something like this:

"Christine?"

"…"

"Christine! Pay attention!"

"I don't have to pay you anything! You can just steal what you want! Now let me go home!"

"I've told you many times...I can't..."

"If you really 'loved' me, you'd let me go."

And he would remain silent for several minutes. The _first_ time I said this he leaned over his organ. I was hopeful and stood with baited breath. He looked at me slowly.

"All right, Christine," he said, sounding defeated. "I will let you go."

I gasped and gave a small squeal, my face breaking into a real smile. Erik turned back to his organ. He tapped the desk, obviously thinking of some tune.

"Do you know what I'm doing, Christine?" he asked me suddenly.

"Giving me back my freedom!" I answered happily, wanting for a split-second to hug him.

"I'm lying, Christine."

I stopped breathing and my face fell. "What?" I said hoarsely. It was like being kidnapped all over again, and it was cruel of Erik to do that to me.

"I am lying. Do you like it when I lie?"

"No!" I spat, glaring. I hated him with every fiber of my being at the moment.

"Good. I hope you learned a lesson from that. You do not enjoy me lying, and I do not enjoy it when you lie. So I expect you to always be truthful."

After that I refused to come out of my room the next day, but eventually did because of hunger. He acted as if nothing had happened, but one day he had a pleasant surprise for me.

"Christine, I would like to take you out one night," he said quickly, watching as I picked at the loose thread on the couch cushion.

"Out…?" I repeated slowly, thinking of a fancy restaurant. I would say no if he asked me. It was rude, yes, but I hated him then.

"Out. On a walk or something of the sort. I know you do not like being holed up in this house. So if it suits you, I will take you out tomorrow night."

"Oh, yes! Thank you so much!" I cried, jumping up. He nodded and then took me back to my room.


	11. Simply Playing With Me

**Simply Playing With Me**

I was excited all day, smiling and laughing during the three hours of torture. Erik seemed to appreciate me being happy. Just to go out and see the sky was an enormous treat, and I acted like a child on Christmas Eve.

"When are we going out?" I asked; it must have been for the millionth time, but he answered patiently each time.

"After dinner, Christine." And at dinner I shoveled the food down my throat. That resulted in a rare smile; I can tell his facial expressions by his eyes, which can change in a split-second. He told me to take a jacket, just in case, but that night it was completely unnecessary; it was still late-August and extremely warm. I went into the hall, where he was waiting for me, the blindfold in his hands. I stopped in mid-step when I saw it, and he gave an apologetic gesture.

"Certain precautions are necessary. You must wear it in order to leave."

I sighed loudly and gave in; I needed to taste fresh air was willing to be blindfolded in order to do so. He tied it gently and took my arm. I still didn't like his touch and tensed. I heard him unlock the door and warm air enfolded us as we stepped outside. I was smiling broadly as he led me to the car and warned me to be conscious of my head getting in.

"Where are we going?" I asked him as we were driving. He didn't respond, but my mood couldn't be dampened and I was still grinning as the car stopped. I could smell sharp pine as I got out and looked around rapidly when Erik took my blindfold off. The light was fading, but I could see that we were on a dirt road that ran through the middle of a forest. Erik took me through a trail that was wide enough for us to walk side-by-side. I was devouring every sight I could, glad to be in the real world once again. For once there was a comfortable silence between us.

I suppose it was always there in the back of my mind. Like an annoying fly that you know is there but don't want to really think about. I think Erik knew it, too. I only brought it up to my conscious mind when I had grown bored of looking at trees. They were thick. Could I squeeze through them? Would I be fast enough? These things ran through my mind. It was growing dark. That would be both a help and a hindrance. My eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom...but Erik's were much more adapt. And if I were to succeed where would I go? I could go back to the dirt road and hope that it led to a main road. Of course it did...but how far would it be? And what if they came looking for me in their car? I could see that Erik was thinking of turning around and going back to the car. Like when I screamed, it was now or never. I might never have this chance again...would never even fight again for my freedom.

I took off like a rabbit. Erik did not make a sound; I believe he was simply playing with me, that this was all a game to him. He knew, of course, that I would try to escape, but I had expected him then to grab my hand as soon as I made a sudden movement. I was clawing my way through the thick undergrowth, which was tearing my clothes and skin and pulling at my hair, but I didn't slow. A sharp pain shot through my ankle, and I fell, face-forward, into the dirt, receiving a mouthful of leaves and a face full of mud. Frantically, I turned around to see my foot caught on root, and, no matter how hard I tugged, it would not budge. Tears of anger, frustration, and, most of all, fear, were beginning to hotly prick at my eyes, yet I held them back; tears were of no use here. The shoe was quickly abandoned, as my foot would not leave with it. Smearing more dirt than removing it, I wiped my hand over my face and continued, now relying more on stealth than speed. As the minutes passed hope blossomed in my chest. I really did believe, for those precious minutes, that I was free.

Freedom! It was candy on my tongue, and I rejoiced in it. Resisting to give a cry of delight, I scrambled over a root, yet lost my footing, once again, and began to tumble down a steep hill. I had to bite my tongue to not scream; instead, I had to be satisfied with a sharp gasp. Roots, twigs, leaves, and rocks were scratching into my skin and palms as I frantically tried to grab anything to stop myself. It was quite fruitless; I landed with a noisy splash into a small, shallow river at the base of the hill. My tongue did betray me then; it shrieked as the frigid water bit into my clothes and skin. Even though it was warm, the water was ice-cold, and now the temperature itself was dropping as night was dawning. Now desperately trying to keep myself composed, I numbly climbed out of the bitter water and trudged up the hill, trying to find the improvised path I had been on. Suddenly my heart sped to an alarming rate and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. He was close...I could feel it...

Forcing my aching, stiff legs to work, I began to run again, not hearing anything except the crunching of my feet, the pounding of my heart and my labored breathing. I didn't slow until my ribs were aching and my throat was burning. When I was absolutely sure that he wasn't behind me I stopped, crouching behind a thick tree and waited, trying to still my ragged breathing and stop my frantic shivering. I heard crunching behind me and covered my mouth to keep from screaming.

"_Christine..._"

The voice was right behind me! I whirled around but found only the tree looking at me. With a stifled cry I leapt up and began to run again, trying to get as far away from that voice as possible. I would have climbed a tree, but coniferous trees are not the easiest to climb. I ran until I began to cough violently and knelt down on a gentle slope, gasping.

"_Christine..._"

The voice was to my left! I looked around frantically. Then it was on my right, in front of me, and then in my head! I grabbed my ears, thinking that they were playing tricks on me, and that in my witless state I was hearing voices. Giving a small sob, I jumped up...and ran right into Erik's outstretched arms. He picked me up and began to walk slowly and silently back to the road.

"No! _Please! _Let me go!"

Writhing and kicking in any way that I could, I screamed at him the whole way back to the car. The only sound of protest was a soft grunt as I kicked him sharply on the knee. We arrived and I saw that the car was sleek and black, a newer model, with darkly tinted windows. He put me into the back seat of the car, climbed in after me, slammed the door shut, and the car screeched off. I was silent and shivering, waiting for serious rebuke. When Erik was upset, he certainly showed it. I could feel his anger seething off of him. But he simply blindfolded me and remained silent. I was still shivering as he took me inside my room. This time, however, he went inside with me. I gave a small scream and horrid mental images came to mind...of him...of me...

"Christine has been naughty," he said quietly. "Christine must be punished. She has been a bad girl..."

I squeaked, but he simply left, slamming the door behind him and locking it. I stood there for a few minutes before slouching against the wall with an exhausted sigh. My hand clutched at my rapidly beating heart to try to steady it, and I sank to the floor with a moan. It had been a horribly frightful experience. A shiver wracked my body, and then I remembered that I was dripping wet and filthy. The hot bath water was a welcome relief and, as I sank gratefully into bed, I had, surprisingly, a dreamless, heavy sleep.


	12. Never Meant for Human Ears

**Never Meant for Human Ears**

The next day I got up feeling rather numb. I got ready as usual, but when I went to open the door, I found that it was still locked. Frowning that Erik would forget to unlock it, I knocked a few times.

"Hello?" I shouted. "Hello! You forgot to unlock the door!"

No one answered. I frowned deeper with confusion and sat down on the bed uncertainly. This wasn't like Erik at all. My door had always been unlocked when I woke up in the morning. How was I to eat and practice? I sat there for about five minutes and then heard the click of the lock. I sighed with relief and stood. Erik came in. He had a tray of food in his hands and set it on my nightstand.

"You forgot to unlock the door," I reprimanded him, expecting him to apologize. He didn't say anything, and when I made my way towards the door he cut me off, went out before me, and shut it in my face. I knocked a few times again, angry at him for playing with me again.

"Let me out."

I heard his footsteps die away.

"Hey!"

It was silent. I shrugged. He must have decided to keep me in my room for the day to 'punish me,' as he had said. No problem. I could handle it better than a child could, and I ate the food that was sitting on the tray. He came back at lunch and dinner, replacing the tray. I smiled sweetly at him each time, although inside I was boiling with anger. He would not meet my eyes, and he never said a word. So the first day passed. And the second. And the third. But after a few more days I began to get tired of it. One day when he came in I stood quickly.

"Are you going to let me out today?" I asked, hurrying to his side. Once again he didn't answer and left quickly. I shoveled down the food and took to pacing. With a sigh I watched him replace my breakfast and lunch tray during the course of the rest of the day. Once I actually tried to get out when he was exiting, worming my body through the opening. But he simply put a hand on my shoulder and firmly pushed me back inside. I kicked the door again and gave a loud, "mmph!" I refused to eat that day, and eventually (I don't know if I had been in there for weeks or months, really) I didn't even get out of bed. I laid there and watched him blearily. I began to cry the next day, pleading with him to let me out. Neither tears nor anger worked. He still remained cold and mute. Even when I stopped eating he didn't care. It was horrible! Even if I had been held against my will I was allowed out of the room and permitted to explore most of the house. This was the real imprisonment. Erik taught me a lesson while punishing me.

One day he quite coming. I waited in bed, sullen, but he didn't show. I finally forced myself shakily out of bed and found that the door was unlocked! I jumped, quickly bathed and dressed, and raced out of my room, smiling giddily. I went into the library and hugged myself. You have no idea how relieved I was to be out. I raced around the house, feeling like a child for a few minutes, and then realized that Erik was probably expecting me downstairs if the my door was unlocked, so I went down there, half-angry and half-ecstatic. He was playing his organ, his head bent in concentration. He didn't notice me come in at all. Or if he did he gave no inclination. I sat on the couch, glaring and yet unable to stop smiling.

And suddenly he flicked the music off his stand and began to play a new piece. It was from memory, and it was terrible and wonderful at the same time. I straightened upright and listened intently. I never knew music could have such passion and fervor in it. It was like he was playing his soul! I had never even dreamed about music like this. It is indescribable. I felt tears sting my eyes and felt ashamed later, but at that time it seemed like the only thing to do. Erik was playing with a passion that involved his whole body. I felt my skin prickling on my neck and my hips suddenly felt a disgusting sort of _longing. _Absolutely terrified and disturbed that music could make me feel that way, I burned with shame and embarrassment. Suddenly he stopped and my eyes snapped open. He was staring at me, his eyes wide with disbelief and anger. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed, his hands clenching.

"I thought...you wanted me -" I stuttered, now terrified.

"You were not wanted today!" he suddenly screamed at me. I shrank back into the couch, my eyes wide. "That music was never meant for human ears! How _dare_ you! Invade my privacy, will you, you little harlot?!" He was in such a rage that I began to sob like a child who was being severely scolded by her mother. He shouted at me for another minute or so, and all the while I was curled on the couch, crying breathlessly. When he finished the only sound that was heard was my weeping and his ragged, harsh breathing. With a fluid, swift movement he was down on his knees in front of me and pulling out a very white handkerchief. He took my chin in his hand and began to wipe away my tears.

"Forgive me," he muttered. "I forgot that I unlocked your door this morning and that I had left my door so carelessly open."

He was still dabbing my face dry, and I remembered his confession of love and quickly pulled away. His eyes dampened a little, but he quickly hid this by standing rapidly. I was struck again by how tall he is. He offered his hand to me. I refused and stood by myself.

"To make up I will allow you to sing a song...any song of your choice." He went over to the piano, shoved some paper off the bench, and sat down with a flourish. I went over to him hesitantly, expecting him to start screaming at me for not standing in the right spot or something just as trivial, but he simply looked at me, his eyes shining. I blushed.

"What would you like to sing?" he asked.

"Any song?"

"Any song."

I hesitated, but then took a deep breath and rushed out, "On My Own."

"From _Les Misérables_?" he questioned, looking a bit disappointed, and, without waiting for an answer, began to play a perfect introduction. My voice was still not yet shaped like he wanted it to be, and I saw him wince slightly as I began.

_"On my own...pretending he's beside me. All alone I walk with him 'til morning."_

Of course I was thinking of Raoul. I began to lose myself in the words, imagining Raoul and I together on those carefree days of love and happiness.

_"Without him...I feel his arms around me..."_

It was one of those moments when you don't remember things until after the moment has passed. I remember now Erik faltering slightly on the music.

_"And I know it's only in my mind that I'm talking to myself and not to him!"_

When I finished that line he stopped playing completely. But I was by now completely absorbed in the memories and was singing with such feeling and emotion that it still surprises me today.

_"...Still I say there's a way for us!"_

"Stop..." Erik whispered. I only heard him vaguely and continued my song, rather flinging the fact into Erik's face.

_"I love him!"_

"Stop!" Erik suddenly yelped. He jumped up and put a hand around my mouth. I was snapped back into the reality and my eyes widened in surprise.

"Stop, stop, _stop_!" he hissed, shaking me roughly. He the threw me away from him in disgust and stalked back to his organ, his back hunched and his breathing once again heavy. I was kneeling on the floor, shocked that he had treated me so violently.

"Leave," he said harshly.

I quickly did exactly what he said and pushed my lunch around my plate, waiting for him to appear for our lessons.

"Christine."

He had somehow appeared right behind me, and I jumped, turning around to look at him. There was a pregnant pause, and he suddenly rushed out:

"I...apologize for my actions earlier. I have no explanation."

No, I did not forgive him. But I nodded and followed him to the library, where he picked up the book that I had been studying from the day before.

"Now, Christine, yesterday I told you about coterminal angles. I am astounded that you haven't heard the term before, as it is really quite basic. Remind me what a coterminal angle is."

After heaving a sigh, I stared glumly at the table. "Something about them...when they go together...or something."

I was rewarded with a burning glare. "Thank you for being so precise. A coterminal angle, in short, are angles that share a terminal side. That is, of course, if they are drawn in standard position."

Nothing of this entered my head. Instead I responded, "How do you know all of this stuff?"

"I am a grown man, Christine; therefore, I am expected to know 'this stuff.' "

Sitting up straighter, I argued. "But you know about everything! Math and science and english and grammar and history...I wouldn't be able to store all that I took a lifetime to learn it."

"Perhaps," he argued quietly with an underlying tone of frustration, "if you paid attention, you would not _have _to use a lifetime."

I gave an angry sigh and returned to the horrendous math.


	13. Don Juan

**Don Juan**

There was a few days of tense stillness. We were simply waiting for the other to burst. Singing was becoming the most demanding thing I had ever done and one day I jokingly said to him, after he had stopped me from singing:

"I know that my voice is the worst sound in the world…you might as well give up!" I had smiled weakly, trying to make him laugh. He looked at me seriously, his golden eyes seeming to stare into my very soul.

"No," he said slowly and mournfully. "It's the sound of you crying every night…"

I had no idea how to or how he wanted me to answer this, so I muttered some lame apology and pulled on my sleeve uncomfortably.

"Again, Christine, again. G flat once more…" He struck the note on the piano, and I vocalized. I had never been able to reach that note so easily before, not in my wildest dreams. But he shook his head.

"You're still slightly flat. Higher." I strained my voice to go a bit higher, and it cracked. Coughing loudly simply to hide my blush, I heard him sigh once again.

"You may leave for the afternoon."

I left quickly, heading straight for the table. I was famished; the lessons seemed to drain me. After that I headed library, and tried to struggle through Shakespeare, which Erik had assigned me to read. I blew a frustrated raspberry at the pages, tossed it aside, and slid down further into the couch, knowing full well that Erik would be angry that I hadn't finished the book. After several big yawns I fell asleep. I remember the dream vividly.

_I was sitting in a large dance room in a large, frilly pink dress that made it difficult to breathe. The people in the dance floor had two faces, the extra one being on the back of their heads. So I was being stared at. I was the wallflower. All of the other girls were wearing beautiful gowns and were glaring at me menacingly. Suddenly a hand grabbed mine, and I looked up to find Raoul smiling down at me. Unfortunately I didn't know him in my dream and shooed him away. But I began to sob as he walked away. Another hand touched mine. It was cold, and then I looked up to see a faceless man looking at me. I stood with him, and the dance floor cleared. All the people disappeared. Unfortunately I couldn't dance in my restricting outfit and sank to the floor, sobbing…._

And that was when I woke up. It was an uncomfortable, strange dream, one that I wanted cleared from my head as soon as possible. But it has remained brilliantly vivid in my mind all this time. After taking a few deep breaths I went to the dining room where dinner was waiting for me. Finding I didn't have much of an appetite, I pushed the pasta around on my plate and gazed off into space dreamily, thinking of Raoul. A clatter brought me back to reality. My knife had fallen off the table. I picked it up and went downstairs. But when I got to the door of his music room I stopped short. There was no light coming from it, no strain of music. An unexpected wave of panic swept over me. This was not normal…I had become so used to my routine that the slightest change sent me into a frenzy.

"Here, Christine," a voice called. I looked to find the door to a room slightly ajar and light was spilling out. I opened the door wider hesitantly to find yet another library, except this one was, of course, colder. Erik was seated in a high winged chair with a large book spread out in his hands. He glanced up at me and I saw his eyes soften as I stepped in, looking around curiously.

"Why are you…here?" I asked slowly, trying to find the right words.

"I find that I have been having too much inspiration," he answered, turning a page. "With you being here my hands and head are crowded with notes and the music turns out rushed and sloppy. So I am taking a break."

"Oh…sorry," I apologized, feeling guilty that I had mussed his music.

"No, no, you don't have to apologize, Christine. It was good for me to take a break. I had been working on _Don Juan _for far too long. It was consuming me."

"_Don Juan?_" I echoed, stepping closer. His eyes snapped up to my face.

"My opera," he said reverently.

"I would love to hear it sometime," I said, thinking it would please him.

His eyes grew cold. "You already have."

I remembered his terrifyingly beautiful music and stuttered. "Oh, I – I mean – I'm sorry, I…."

"Never mind," he silenced me. He unfurled his hand to the chair opposite him and I sat down obediently. I found that I love that gesture, the way his hand elegantly unfolds and stretches out. He went back to his book quietly. After a few minutes I found I was beginning to grow bored of the silence.

"What are you reading?" I asked, trying to sound interested.

"A book…." he said distractedly. I frowned.

"Yeah, what one?"

He seemed to have great trouble tearing his eyes away from the pages, but after a while he did and held the book out towards me. I took it and set it in my lap, looking down.

"I can't read it," I said, frowning deeper. "It's in a different language." I was stating such obvious things and I now smile to myself.

"German," he supplied, reaching back for the book.

"Oh, you speak German?" I questioned immediately, now truly interested.

"Obviously." He went back to his book. After a few more minutes of wheedling I discovered much more about Erik. He spoke French, German, Spanish, Italian, and Russian all fluently.

"When I was younger I had nothing to occupy myself with…besides composing, of course. But I could not compose every day all day. Learning new languages became a favorite pastime of mine."

I suddenly felt very stupid compared to him. "Oh…" was the smartest thing I could think of to say. He began to read again, and after a long time I couldn't refrain from sighing softly.

"You may choose a book," he said, keeping his eyes on the book, "though I doubt any of them would interest you."

I stood quickly, glad to be doing something, and began to examine all of the books. A lot of them were in different languages. I found English books, though. They were about science, modern philosophy, psychology, geology, astrology, mythology, some poetry books, and even a few on magic. All of them looked worn and the spines were well creased. When I pulled out one, I found it was much heavier than I had estimated. It dropped to the floor with a loud _bang _and sent dust flying everywhere. Erik looked up quickly.

"Sorry!" I muttered, bending to pick it up. He waved his hand with that unusual grace of his and told me to go back to my room. I waited for him to shut his book, but he kept reading. After I cleared my throat loudly, he looked at me, glaring.

"_What?_" he asked irritably. "Oh…oh, yes. Forgive me." And he finally shut his book.

"What was that book about? You could hardly tear your eyes away from the page," I said as we walked up the stairs. He glanced at me.

"Science," he said shortly. I had never been really interested in that stuff, so I was silent.

"Goodnight," I muttered awkwardly when we reached my door. He opened the door for me.

"Goodnight, Christine."


	14. Confrontation

**Confrontation**

I was plagued by nightmares.

It was like the one that I had in the library triggered off a whole series. Some made me cry, and some made me scream. However, the dreams always started the same. I found myself standing on a tall hill with two paths that went down in opposite directions through a dark-looking forest. I had gone down both paths many times, and the results were always different. Faceless men would chase me through the forest or I would get lost or some other terrible outcome. More than once I had buried myself under my sheets, breathing deeply and trying to calm myself down. After a while I began to suffer from insomnia. I couldn't stop yawning during our music lesson, sometimes in the middle of a song.

"Why aren't you getting enough sleep?" Erik asked me after I had just had a big yawning session.

"Sorry," I grumbled.

"I don't believe that was an adequate answer. Why aren't you getting enough sleep?"

I glared at him. I was extremely grumpy when I was tired. "I just don't."

"Do you need longer to sleep in the morning? Do I have to send you to bed at an earlier time?" I could hear edge in his voice, too.

"Look, I'm not five, okay?"

"You certainly act like it!" he snapped, rising from his organ. I pretended to be offended.

"Oh, that cut _really _deep!" I scoffed at him and folded my arms.

"Come along," he growled, heading towards the door.

"Where are we going?" I demanded.

"You are going back to your room so you can sleep."

"No." I was becoming so tired of him bossing me around like he was my mother, so I simply refused. Mostly because I was sick of him, but also because I wanted to make him mad. Yes, quite childish, I admit.

"What?" He whirled to face me in disbelief.

"What if I don't want to?" I was testing his limits once again, seeing how far I could prod him before he burst. I saw his hands clench and shuddered involuntarily.

"You will be going even if you don't want to."

"Oh, I'm _terrified_…" I said sarcastically. He took a step towards me and I actually did step back. He was positively fuming, yet I was in too stubborn a mood to back down.

"Don't touch me!" I commanded, taking yet another step back. "You can't boss me around! You're not my father!"

"Of course not!" he spat. "I'm not trying to be…"

"Well you're doing a horrible job!"

He gave a sudden roar of rage. I practically jumped out of my skin.

"You stupid, stupid child!" he raged. "Do you understand nothing?! Have you come to realize anything at all?! _No! _How can you not understand?! _Everything_ I have done has been for _you_! And you have the nerve to stand there and disobey me! You were lost, Christine, I could see it! You stumbled blindly in the dark with no apparent path before you and I simply set you in the right direction! How can you not see that?! Why can you not understand?" He grabbed my forearms violently and shook me.

I jerked back suddenly and gave him the most hateful glare that I could. "Do you think this is some sort of _treat _for me?! To be here, locked up?! I hate it here! I hate you! I want to go home! How can you expect me to simply obey you like a dog when I never wanted to even be here?!"

His hand rose swiftly as if to strike me, and I flinched, turning my head away. But his hand simply shot down to my wrist and he clenched it tightly. I gasped.

"What would you have done if I had not found you?" he hissed, and then he turned on his heel and began to pull me out of the room. His strides were long and I had to run to keep up with him. When we were finally in front of my door he fumbled with the key for a few seconds and then got it unlocked.

"Sleep," he commanded, shoving me inside. Then he shut it and I heard the click.

I was left numb of any describable emotion. What _would _I have done if he hadn't kidnapped me? Would I have stayed with Raoul…possibly marriage? I knew he was wealthy enough to support us, but would I have been happy…? Yes, probably. _Probably. _The word hisses across my head like some sort of jeer. Would I truly be happy with Raoul? I do suppose that, had I not known Erik, I would have been happy with him. I would have remained innocent to his dark, enchanting existence and I would have spent my days in the sun, carefree and blind to the horrors that are placed in this world. But I know that if I were to be set free I could never forget him, never erase him completely from my mind. It is terrifying when someone has such a powerful grip on your mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual state. I feel like nothing belongs to me anymore; nothing is mine, not even my own mind! I want to kick and scream and run, run fast and never look back. But I would. I would turn around and stare. I am so weak! Why can't I be stronger?! Why am I like this?!

I curled tight in the sheets, gripping them with sweaty hands and sobbing quietly to myself. I am so pitiful! I scolded myself as the tears fell fast.

_Stop it, Christine! Crying isn't going to help you! _

And so, to escape my befuddled state, I tried to sleep. Tried. It really wasn't possible. I spent a horrible night curled under my blanket, my eyes closed. I was so physically exhausted, but my mind was buzzing nonstop. I had no way of knowing what time it was, so I laid in bed for hours, sighing loudly every now and then. It must have been time to get up…it had to be…

There was a knock on the door, and I heaved one last sigh before finding I couldn't keep my eyes open. I was so tired! I slunk out of bed and went over to the door, yawning widely. Really too tired to care that I was only dressed in a nightgown, I opened the door. He observed me, his eyes narrowed.

"Did you sleep at all?"

I shook my head slowly. "I can't. That's what I was trying to tell you…" My eyes were only partway open and I was staring at his chest.

"Why ever not?"

I gave a slumpy shrug and yawned widely. "I just can't get to sleep anymore," I told him, stopping in mid-sentence to stifle another yawn. He took a step towards me; I understood that it was his way of asking to come in. A little uneasy, I stepped back. He swept past me, almost arrogantly; I scoffed, rolled my eyes, and turned to look at him. He was standing by my bed. I blushed furiously when he motioned for me to get in. He seemed to suddenly understand why I was blushing and then I noticed him get uncomfortable too.

"No…not that," he muttered. "Just…something, well – hurry!" He barked the last word. I jumped and shyly slid between the sheets. He studied me for a minute but I couldn't and wouldn't meet his eyes. After a while he said calmly:

"You need sleep."

Obviously.

"Relax, Christine. Loosen every muscle in your body. Every single one…" His voice had become something ethereal. My head spun and suddenly I felt exhausted. A thick, warm layer enveloped me. What was he doing? His voice was soft, musical and rich. It was that more than anything that finally allowed me to go to sleep.

"Think of a place where you are at ease…where you feel safe…"

I was slowly slipping off and finally, _finally_…I fell asleep.


	15. Missing Music

**Missing Music**

I am not the thing that Erik loves most.

He loves his music more than anything else.

I had met a fair few musicians before I arrived at Erik's house, but none of them were as devoted to their art as he. He kept most of his pieces private, but any time I asked him to play something, he gladly obliged. He played music to fit his moods, though he never again played _Don Juan_ in my presence. I was grateful. The music seemed to scorch my very soul and he knew that. I asked him why he wrote such music.

"There is some piece of music such as _Don Juan_ in every one of us," he told me gravely. "I simply possess the skills necessary to bring it forth."

He didn't seem to be bragging; simply stating a fact, such as the sky is blue.

"Do you write music all the time?"

"Most of it, yes. Oh, not my _Don Juan_," he continued, seeing my puzzled expression. "I am still fasting. I compose whimsical pieces that I destroy as soon as they are written. Sometimes I shall write an occasional piece that is worthy to be kept."

"Does anyone ever hear your music?" I further enquired.

"There have been a fair few who _have_, but they are quite a long ways in the past."

"Like who?"

"Your questions appear to be endless, child."

I took the hint that he was tired of my questions and fell silent, but his mention about his past intrigued me. Who _was _Erik? Did he even have a last name? Where was he born? It was strange to think of Erik as a toddler. When I pictured him in a diaper - complete with the mask - I couldn't help but give a small laugh. My questions about his past seemed permanently etched in my mind, and so one day I worked up the courage to ask him.

"Erik?" I said softly. His eyes snapped to my face. I realized that it was the first time I had said his name aloud to him. It made me blush but I continued my question.

"Where were you born…? I mean, I was just wondering, and…" My sentence trailed off into nothingness, but I continued to look at him questioningly.

"That, Christine, is a question for another day," he said and turned a page in his book. I couldn't stop myself, no matter how badly I wanted to.

"But I really – "

"It is inconsequential!" he shouted, angrily snapping his book shut with a _thump_. "And I don't wish to discuss it! Ever!" He stood from his chair, quickly unfurling his long, thin body imperiously.

"S-sorry," I said quickly, drawing my legs instinctively up to my chest. I was still shaken from our last screaming argument and had no desire to replay it. So I succumbed meekly to every one of his emotions: an epitome of how much power he had over me. He sighed and shook his head.

"Come," he said. I followed him quietly up the stairs and only when we neared the top was the silence broken.

"I do not wish for you to fear me, Christine," he said softly. "Unfortunately my temper is unpredictable and I tend to…er – fly into a rage when it comes to…sensitive subjects."

He unlocked my door and glanced at me, obviously waiting for a response.

"Why would the place of your birth be sensitive?" I frowned. It was a simple question; why did he become enraged about it? He looked uncomfortable.

"It brings up…unpleasant memories," he said. "Christine…" He said my name suddenly, and I paused while going inside. I waited for him to say something else, but he was simply staring at his shoes, so I made to go in. He grabbed my wrist.

"Wait," he said sharply. "I have something to tell you."

I quickly backed out and tugged my wrist away; I doubt he realizes how much it hurts when he does that.

"I am going to be gone for a few days," he said, finally meeting my eyes.

"How many?" I asked, feeling slightly panicked. If it was going to be a while I doubted that I could handle the crushing loneliness and solitude.

"Two or three," he answered, sounding rather happy. "You will…miss Erik, then?"

"I am going to be lonely," I whined mournfully.

"Surely not. It will only be for two days – three, at the most, like I have already said. Farewell for now, Christine." He raised his hand as though to touch my face, but as soon as it was my shoulder-height he seemed to change his mind and let it drop again heavily. I laid in bed that night and sighed, but then I began to semiconsciously hum a tune. I realized that it was a song he had played for me. He was beginning to control my unconscious mind, too! I tousled my hair in a frustrated manner and rolled over, brooding. I remember thinking furiously. _I have to keep him out of my head. I'm nothing but a slave to his whim_!

His music is…intoxicating…_sensual_. Of course that's only when he wants it to be. He can play hate, grief, sorrow, jealousy, happiness…any emotion that's possible, he can make it heard. It's frightening and captivating at the same time. After dwelling on this for a while I decided to take this break as an opportunity. I could rid him out of my head over these two days and clear out the affect he had had on me. While brooding on that rather happy thought, I finally fell asleep peacefully.

----

It turned out that what I had had in mind was utterly impossible. I could not be in that house without thinking of him. My meals were still served on time, and when I took an automatic right to go down to his music room I stopped myself, chuckling at my stupidity, and went to the library. But I could not occupy myself with reading. I was busy wondering what Erik was doing. Why had he left? What was this mysterious business he had? Then I scolded myself for thinking about him and went to think about Raoul. But as time progressed my mind wandered back to the sheer curiosity of what Erik was doing. I sighed and began to sing softly, trying to break the stifling silence in any way I could. Of course it was a song Erik had taught me; I could hardly remember any songs outside of this house. I heaved a sigh and hung off the couch upside-down, my hair pooling down the leg and onto the floor. It had gotten so long. I blew a raspberry at it for being so difficult to manage.

"You're awful, did you know that?" I told my hair, eyeing it with a humorous loathing. "Always tangled and so long and thick! Ah, well, lots of girls would like this hair." A smile grew on my lips, then I fell sober instantly. What in the world was I doing? _Talking to my_ hair?

I quickly righted myself and sat calmly on the couch, folding my hands in my lap and sitting straight.

"Now, Christine," I told myself, "you are going to remain sane. So stop talking and read a book or do something normal."

I heaved a sad sigh, ignored the book lying on the table, and moped to the dining room, where lunch was placed. It was only lunch-time of the first day and I was already talking to nonliving things and myself! I decided to catch up on my sleep and take a nap, but of course that was impossible. I couldn't seem to get comfortable; something was always pinching or poking me or I was too warm or too cold. So I wandered around aimlessly until dinner. After that I took the longest bath of my life and laid in bed, staring at the canopy drearily. For the first time in my life I wished Erik was there.

The second day was no better than the first one; indeed, it was actually worse. I knew what was going to occur that day (nothing), and that did little to improve my spirits. I could only occupy myself by singing – songs that he had taught me. I braided my hair at least five dozen times and changed outfits every few hours, trying to keep myself occupied. I never went downstairs; it didn't seem right to be down there without Erik. I felt something might be watching down there…something might attack me. I desperately hoped that he would return the next day and even tried to tell him with my mind to come back.

Thankfully, he did. I heard a door shut a few hours after lunch and ran out of the library, practically squealing. He was standing by the door to go downstairs, and I quickly grabbed his sleeve and shook it enthusiastically.

"Oh, you're back!" I gushed. "I'm so glad! I've been so bored – and had the worst time – and I was so lonely! I don't want you to go away every again! Never! Please – oh, wait for me to go downstairs! Let me grab my coat! Just never go away like that again!"

And later I had a horrible epiphany:

The absence only made me realize how much I needed him.


	16. Simply Unconscious

**Simply Unconscious**

One cold day, when I asked Erik what day it was, he told me December 24. I gasped, and when he inquired after that I told him it was Christmas Eve.

"And?" he asked. I let my shoulder sag and shrugged. Obviously he did not celebrate Christmas.

"Is there something important about today?" he asked. I told him no, not bothering to mention that it was Christmas Eve, and that millions of children tomorrow would wake up happily with their parents and drink eggnog while opening brightly-colored presents. Erik gave a mere, "oh," and left me to my lunch, which I no longer enjoyed.

Even if I was a prisoner on Christmas Eve I tried to lighten my mood. Reminiscing sweet childhood Christmas memories was not much of a booster, and after that I went to the library and tried to find anything on a Christmas subject. Nothing. Defeated, I slumped to my room and laid on my bed until dinner. When it was time for dinner I ate slowly, without an appetite. Erik seemed to sense my sullenness while we were in the library.

The next morning I woke feeling rather glum. Nothing exciting was happening here. Everywhere else children had already woken up and had opened boxes filled with magnificent presents - and I was simply going to go sing and then mope about a chilly house all Christmas. When I finally emerged, slumping, I found Erik waiting for me in the dining room. He never watched me eat breakfast, and I stopped short when I saw him waiting.

"Hi..." I said uncertainly.

When I continued to stand he motioned to my plate. "Eat, please, and then I have something to show you."

I did, glancing up at him occasionally. He seemed a little anxious, tense and skittish, but that was just by the position of his body and the look in his eyes. I wasn't positive that he was completely on edge, but he seemed rather anxious. I ate quickly and when I finished he opened the door for me.

"In the library," he told me. I walked across the hall and my mouth dropped when I saw a large Christmas tree tucked into a corner, its lights glowing brilliantly and a large, sparkling star on top. I turned to find Erik behind me, as if waiting for my verdict.

"Wow...I...thanks!" was all I could really manage to say. I walked in slowly, as if afraid to set off some alarm. Erik followed me in. He managed to make me feel guilty again in believing he was selfish and I looked at him with a soft, thankful smile. His eyes motioned to something on the floor, and I saw a box wrapped in shimmering crimson paper with a large bow on top of it. I stooped down and picked it up. It was small and narrow. After looking at him a second time he nodded and I opened it quickly. Inside was a beautiful, heavy gold locket. I gave a girlish squeal and pulled it out, dropping the box to the floor and examining the necklace. It had been engraved with a curly _C _on the front. I held it out to Erik, who took it as if in a trance, and turned around, pushing the hair off of my neck.

It seemed like the most normal thing in the world, yet he hesitated for quite some time.

"Would you put it on, please?" I asked him in an almost encouraging manner. He took a step forward and encircled me in his arms. I felt a strange chill run down my spine as he clasped the chain. He quickly took his hands away and stepped back. I pulled my hair into its normal position and turned to face him, fingering the locket that had come to rest a few inches below the center of my collarbone.

"Thank you," I said softly. "It's very pretty."

He nodded.

Later that day, after our usual singing lessons, Erik had another present for me.

"If you will put on some warmer clothes I will take you out again tonight."

"Really?!" I exclaimed, clasping my hands together.

"So long as you do not run again," he said coolly.

"Of course! I won't! I promise! I just...thank you!" He led me back to my room, and I was happier than I had been in such a long time. When he unlocked it and stood back so I could enter, I did something that was totally unplanned. I hugged him. Quickly. Just a swift squeeze around his waist, and I heard him gasp. But I was still smiling and gave him another thank you before going to my room to grab a heavier jacket. But the hug lingered in my mind. Why did I do that? Was it my 'present' to him? Of course I did not have anything materialistic to give him...and a hug wasn't suggesting anything, unless he took it that way. A hug was a sign of affection. Am I affectionate towards the man who kidnapped me? And why do I keep dragging that up in my own defense? Am I afraid to feel something more than contempt for Erik? By every law I should loathe him, feel nothing except hate for him, and yet I really don't. I feel many things for him; confusion, fear, amazement and yes, some sort of affection, but do I really _hate _him?

No.

I really don't _completely_ hate him. There are many things that I do despise about him, but as a whole I can't. It's a strange, new feeling and I don't like it. The knowing that I should hate him and the realization that I don't. Everything...everything tells me to hate him. I don't; and I can't. Strange.

These things buzzed around in my head as I checked myself in the large, full-sized mirror that hung by the wardrobe and went into the hall. Erik was as composed as ever. After looking me up and down to make sure I was properly dressed he tied the blindfold around my eyes securely and led me outside. I gasped at the air; he was right. It was quite cold. The car, thankfully, was warm and I sighed gratefully as it sped off with a crunch. There was a comfortable silence between us and I spent the time fingering the locket. I hadn't bothered to open it, but now I fumbled blindly for the small clasp that held it together.

"Erik, what's in it?" I asked, holding out the locket.

"Whatever you want," he said simply. I shrugged and leaned against the chilly window for the rest of the ride. When we stopped smoothly I felt Erik get out of the other side and open the door for me. He removed the blindfold, and I actually squealed. We had parked on the side of a crowded street! People were passing us quickly, glancing and then going back to their phones or thoughts. People! _People!_

"Really, Erik?" I asked breathlessly.

"Yes."

He put a possessive hand on my back and we pushed our way through the crowds so that we were covered in the shadows that the lights gave from the shops. I was grinning broadly and looked at Erik. He was wearing a long black coat with the collar turned up highly, but because it was so cold no one gave a second thought. I giggled giddily to myself and began to people watch, savoring each face and voice. Even though I knew I couldn't talk to one of them I just enjoyed their company. Erik was acting paranoid, though, moving his hand so that it clenched my elbow and glaring at perfectly normal people who came a little too close. I laughed at him and he snapped his head to glare down at me.

"Um...sorry," I muttered, warming my frozen cheeks with a blush and looking to the right where small shops were located. I noticed a shabby-looking man in a red beanie sitting in a small coffee shop, looking thoroughly depressed and staring into his hands gloomily. He looked up at me, and I gave him what I hoped was a sweet smile. Erik stopped.

"Would you like something in there?" he asked.

"Oh, no - I was just - "

He cut me off by reaching into his coat and pulling out a large wad of bills. He handed me a fifty and motioned towards the door.

"If you need more come back out. And Christine - " here he grabbed my hand " - I trust you..."

I knew he was talking about me trying to run away. I looked him in the eye and nodded, then went into the warm coffee shop. I inhaled the wonderful aroma and smiled widely. A paunchy man with a receding hairline was at the counter.

"Can I help you?" he asked irritably.

Brightly, I ordered a small cup of hot chocolate, and when he turned around to make it I looked out the window. I could see Erik's shoulder in one corner of the window, and after slapping away any stray thoughts of escape I turned my attention to the people inside. Only three: the man with the red beanie, an old woman doing a crossword puzzle, and a worried-looking middle-aged man who was tapping his fingers and constantly checking his watch. Unfortunately I was interrupted by the man behind the register. I took my drink, paid him, and then went back outside.

"Here you go," I said to Erik, dumping the large amount of change into his hand. He tucked it into his pocket and we started off again. It was quite strange. Erik handing out fifties. Somehow it simply didn't seem to suit him to have cash. I shrugged and took a sip of my drink. The chocolate warmed me immensely, and I was just thinking about offering some to Erik when something terrifying happened.

A hand was clamped around my mouth and I was dragged into a dank alleyway. My drink splashed to the floor, splashing my shoes and the hem of my pants, and I felt something cold pressed against my temple. I was held against a large stomach and my eyes filled with tears. I looked up to see Erik in front of me, his eyes wide with disbelieving, terrifying anger. A man's stuttering voice came from right behind my ear.

"Give me all of your money or I _will_!"

I whimpered and looked at Erik, who took a step forward. Something sharp clicked, and I realized that it was a gun. Hot tears began to fall down my cheeks. _I was going to die..._Erik took another step.

"Don't come any closer...! I'll blow her brains out, I swear it!" I felt the barrel falter slightly on my head as Erik's eyes bored into the man's, but he did not draw it away. And with a sudden movement something dark was flung over my eyes. Before I could get it off of my eyes I heard scuffling and a sharp crack like a gunshot. I screamed and heard something heavy fall to the ground. I finally got that stupid blindfold off of my head and found Erik standing in front of me, breathing heavily and staring down at the attacker with something more intense than loathing. With a jolt I saw that it was the man in the red beanie. And I burst into tears. Erik came over to me and I leaned against him, crying noisily. He comforted me with small shushing noises and I wiped my eyes, then stared down at the still man.

"Is he...dead...?" I whispered.

"Simply unconscious," Erik said confidently. I took a step closer and stretched out my hand out to find a pulse.

"No, Christine," said Erik harshly, grabbing my wandering hand. "Let's leave."

"He's not breathing," I said stubbornly. We fell silent. I heard faint breathing coming from the man. But his chest was not moving..."We can't just leave him here," I continued faintly, still staring.

"Yes we can. We're going."

"But..." I was so deeply amazed with the man, so still and silent. I wondered if he had a family. Maybe a sick mother or the only father of three hungry children. Maybe he had a pregnant wife or a sister who depended on him. Erik said he was alive...but he wasn't. What would happen if he had a family? After a few more seconds Erik quickly put his hand over my eyes.

"Don't look, Christine." And he pulled me out of the alley. I saw, when he removed his hand that his car was waiting patiently for us. I gave a shuddering sigh and slid into the seat. I had almost died. It was true; in life-threatening situations your whole life passes quickly in front of your eyes. Who would know that I had died besides Erik? If the man had been less cowardly would Erik have given him the money?

_Of course_…I told myself. _He doesn't seem greedy._

I felt something touch my shoulder and I jumped. I was feeling rather paranoid.

"Christine? I've said your name at least three times."

"Oh…yes…." I muttered distractedly. "Sorry."

"Do you feel all right?"

"Yes. Fine." My voice had taken on a strange, squeaky quality to it and I had long pauses between words and sentences – or, whatever fragments I stuttered out.

"I apologize. I would not have taken you out if I had known what were to happen."

"Fine," I repeated, my voice cracking slightly. "I'm fine…yes…fine…"

I was muttering like a madman. Anything to break the silence. I couldn't see. Someone could have jumped me any moment. As long as there was noise I was fine. If I couldn't hear anything else nothing else would exist. At least, that's what I told myself. So I blabbered on about different things.

"When I was little – when my dad was alive – we used to go ice skating. Have you ever gone ice skating? And – well, my sister and I – Lydia, I don't know what happened to her – we would throw snow at each other. Have you ever gotten into a snowball fight? It hurts a lot when snow hits your ear or goes into you clothes. Once snow got into my shoes and we – well, my sister said sorry – but we had to go home. I was sad, because I was having a good time. Is it snowing outside?"

And so on. Erik let me rattle off uninterrupted until the car stopped smoothly.

"Oh, we're back already? I enjoyed going outside – ouch! I smashed my finger on the buckle. Silly of me, I know…and – oh, thank you."

I climbed out awkwardly, my legs wobbling. I pitched forward and fell on my knees and hands, burying my hands in the light layer of snow that covered the sharp rocks underneath. I was pulled up quickly, although he didn't let me go. He had a hold of my elbows and supported me all the way to my room, where he finally pulled off my blindfold.

"You are dreadfully pale," he observed, studying my face. "You are still quite shaken." He grew somber and I could feel him seething in a quiet, controlled fury. "I should have never taken you outside…"

Did this mean he would never take me out…ever again? I would be kept in this house forever? My vision became blurry and I began to cry without realizing. Erik looked, for the first time, unsure of what to do. He cleared his throat softly while I stood pitifully, tears running down my face. I leaned forward a little. I needed comforting physical contact badly, and if I had to get it from Erik I would give in. I was suddenly feeling so alone and small. It was one of those moments that you just wanted to know someone loved you.

When he didn't move I began to cry harder.

"C-can I go in my room, n-now?" I stuttered, trying to keep my voice level.

He gave a sigh. "My dear child…" When he drew me closer I gave a sigh of relief.

And in that moment I felt like he really did love me.


	17. Nothing Short of Open Arms

**Nothing Short of Open Arms**

The shock took a couple weeks to wear off. I would stare blankly into space, reliving the terrifying moments until Erik would stop it. One day I had a horrible realization:

_I was responsible for another man's death._

Erik had killed Mr. Sorensen for me...and he had just killed another. Not to mention the attempts to kill Raoul. I looked at him, almost puzzled.

"That's two," I said slowly. He handed me a warm drink that helped calm my nerves.

"Pardon?"

"Two..." I repeated, staring into the glass. "Two men. They died. Because of me. Am I a murderer, Erik?"

He immediately fell on his knees and stared at me, hard. "Of course you aren't, dear child, and do not ever think so again."

"But two...they died. Because of me. So I am a murderer, then?"

"No. I am."

"But you killed them for me," I insisted, clutching the glass in my now-sweaty hands. The thought of me being a murderer did not appeal to me. "I killed them! I killed them!"

I began to cry and let the glass drop to the ground, the dark contents staining the rug. With my head in my hands I sobbed out of the grim realization of what had just happened.

"You said it yourself!" I cried, pointing at him. "You said you did it all for me! I killed them!"

He took my shoulders and shook me roughly. "Calm yourself!" he commanded. "No, Christine, you did not! Are you listening to me? You did _not_."

I sniffled and quietly stopped the stream of tears. His face was hazy through my watery eyes.

"Perhaps you would like to sleep?" he questioned politely, as though addressing a child. I was confused of what to think, and so I had resorted to simple, clear thoughts that did not have any depth to them. I nodded and went to my bedroom. It took quite a few restless nights to work the nightmares out of my system but, eventually, I did. For the first time in a long time, I had a good night's sleep. And after that I had to work on my shock during the day. Through several days of urgent coaxing, Erik pulled me back into my condition of mental stability.

I woke one next morning and smiled. I had had a wonderful night's sleep. It was the fourth night in a row that I had slept comfortably and that put me in a very good mood. I took a quick bath, put on some clothes, and rubbed my bare feet over the plush carpet, giggling madly at my own adolescence and the tickling sensation. Leaving my wardrobe wide open I took a few slow steps across the room. I had never been in this house barefoot (on my own free will, of course). It was a fascinating sensation! Like tasting chocolate-covered cherries for the first time. I was busily digging my toes into the thick rugs when the large mirror that hung by the wardrobe caught my eye.

I had never really paid much attention to it. It was simply an old mirror with an engraved, fading frame. Yet something snatched my attention. I walked slowly towards the mirror. It towered over me like some huge monster, and I craned my head up to see something that was scratched into the top right-hand corner. It was a letter: _M_

I was intrigued. Who was _M_? With the slightest hint of jealousy I thought that it might have been a lady friend of Erik's...but he has told me that I am the only person that has ever been in his life...haven't I? Now I was not so sure. I stood on my toes and reached up to lightly touch the small blemish on the smooth surface. As soon as my finger touched the cool glass the mirror slid down the wall! It smashed to the floor with a loud _bang._ I gasped and took a hasty step back so I could avoid my bare toes being crushed by the heavy mirror. I can still see it in slow-motion: the mirror landed heavily, and glass bursting everywhere, bouncing off of my clothes. Little shards buried themselves in the thick carpet. Then the mirror began to teeter slightly. It was going to fall on top of me! I shrieked loudly and took several clumsy steps backwards, then screamed again. I had stepped on the glass, and the pieces had pierced the bottom of my bare feet. I still had to keep going, however, because the mirror was tall. I sank to the floor by my bed, sobbing. As soon as I touched my bloody foot gingerly Erik burst through the door. He gave a long sweep of the room with his eyes and, without a word, came over and picked me up.

"No..." I protested weakly. "I can walk...I can...I just - "

"Hush," he said harshly, opening the door to the library. "Learn to accept help when it is offered, Christine."

He set me on the couch and propped my feet up with a small stool. I was dripping blood everywhere; I noticed that it had stained Erik's pants. But he didn't seem to be noticing. He looked at the bottom of my feet, stood, and left quickly. I began to cry again; the glass was hurting me quite horribly and Erik's only comfort had been a reprimand. I did expect, selfishly, to be comforted exceedingly and petted like a small, fluffy dog, and for that I cried even harder. He came back with a large bowl of water and a small leather bag. Kneeling down in front of me again, he took my feet and submersed them in the cold water. I gave a shuddering gasp. The blood stained the water a crimson red, and I suddenly felt faint realizing that it was my own blood. He noticed that quickly.

"Will you be all right watching?" he asked me. I nodded and then so did he. He peeled off his now-wet gloves and cast them aside carelessly, then picked up the leather bag. After a few seconds of rummaging he revealed a pair of ordinary-looking sliver tweezers. I gave another shudder at the sight. When they entered my foot I couldn't help but let out a scream of pain. He winced at the sound and set the tweezers down. I thought I was going to become sick and then realized I never could have survived as a nurse.

Erik stood and I quickly questioned that.

"Where are you going?" I squeaked, looking anywhere but at the bloody mess.

"I assure you, I will return shortly." And with a snapping sound he shut the door. I was trying to calm myself, breathing deeply and closing my eyes. Panic at his absence was welling up inside of me. _What if he never came back? What if I was left here forever?_ Irrational thoughts crowded my head until a slight clicked announced his return. I gave a sigh of relief and opened my eyes to find another glass being offered to me. With a lurch of my stomach I saw that the outside had streaks of red. His hands had become stained with my blood and had blemished the glass. I took it, shaking horribly.

"What is this?" I whispered.

"Something to help with the pain," he answered, examining his red cuffs with a frown. I drank it hastily. It tasted like a flat soda. My vision began to swim and I welcomed the black unconsciousness with nothing short of open arms.

I woke slowly, dozing and trying to clear my head. When I finally opened my eyes I saw that my feet were bandaged neatly. Erik was sitting with his back to me. He appeared to be asleep, but after another few seconds he lifted his head and I heard him give a soft sigh.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. He turned slightly to show that he was listening. A little annoyed that he wouldn't look me in the eye, I continued, "About your mirror...I didn't mean to. It just...fell."

"Of course," he said shortly. I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not, so I decided to ignore it.

"I saw a letter in the corner. An _M. _Would you...?" I didn't finish my sentence, finding a loss of right words.

"It was my mother's initial," was the again short reply. He wasn't looking up. "That was her mirror."

"Oh!" A shaky hand flew to my mouth. "Erik...I'm so sorry! I - "

"Hush," he commanded for the second time. "You needn't be. It's not important. She's dead."

He said that in a way that told me the inquiries were. We were silent for a while.

"What did I drink?" I asked, looking at the dirty glass that rested on the floor. He glanced at it, too.

"Laudanum."

I didn't have a clear knowledge of what that was, so I assumed it was some kind of drug and nodded. It made my head spin when I tried to sit up, so I laid still and looked at my feet. I look at them now and see the small scars. Many, many white lines that crisscross the bottom of my feet. Another reminder.

"You keep surprising me," I said amusedly, smiling a bit.

"Excuse me?"

"With all of the stuff you know how to do," I explained. "What else do you know how to do? Become invisible? Walk through walls? Fly? I don't doubt that you can."

He seemed to think I was making fun of him and I saw him tense.

"I was joking!" I said hurriedly. "It was just a joke. I wasn't making fun of you or anything." I sighed. Everything was always so serious here. We were silent for another few minutes. I was letting my head clear. I don't know what he was thinking. He was stiff and silent, staring at the blood-streaked glass. After another few minutes of an uneasy silence he suddenly asked,

"Are you feeling well enough to begin your day?"

I tested my head by sitting up and then nodded. He stood, walked over, and picked me up. I bit back a sigh when I saw he was headed towards his music room. Of course we had to sing! It wasn't possible to miss a lesson because of a foot injury! I smiled bitterly to myself as he went down, and then suddenly felt ashamed. I was being so ungrateful! He could have left me sobbing in my own stupidity, and yet he himself treated me!

"Thank you," I muttered into his neck. He nodded curtly and set me on the fainting couch. I made sure to keep my feet resting on the ground lightly.

"You aren't hurting, are you?" he asked. I shook my head.

"Good. You won't be able to sing very well sitting down, though."

He chose to ignore my scowl.


	18. What Love Is

**What Love Is**

I had never fully realized Erik's intentions with me until one fateful day in January. I was sitting down and shivering in his music room. After the longest time with the library he had gone back to composing, though I knew he wasn't working on his _Don Juan. _I bit my lip and looked at him. He was busily writing something, and my jacket wasn't keeping me warm enough.

"Erik," I chattered. "May I go up and get another coat? Please?"

He was too absorbed to be bothered, so I went up to him and tapped his shoulder. He started as if someone had shot him and glared up at me.

"What?" he asked irritably.

"I'm cold," I said softly. He handed me the key and went right back to work. I was standing speechless for some time, but finally left quickly and simply stood at the foot of the stairs, unable to really move. I had the key! I could do anything I wanted! Look in any room I wished! I could even…escape. I shivered with delight at the prospect and ran upstairs. But doubt crept over me. Surely Erik would not be so careless as to give _me _the key to escape. I hugged it as though it were my firstborn child and nervously glanced around as if someone knew I was misbehaving. Lingering in front of the ominous door that was always locked, I gave a determined sigh and shoved the key into the lock. Well, tried. The key was much too large to fit inside the tiny lock. I gave a furious "urgh!" and stomped to my room, rather frustrated. After grabbing a heavier jacket I slumped back down the stairs but stopped at the foot and examined all the doors. Surely a little peek at the rooms couldn't hurt. After all, what did Erik have to hide from me?

I knew that the room on the right was his library, so I went to the door after that and unlocked it, taking great care to try and not make much ruckus. I opened the door slowly - it didn't make any creaking noises, thank goodness - and stepped inside the dimly lit room. My face contorted in some kind of sick fascination and I shivered out of a sudden coldness that seemed to take hold of my insides.

On the walls were pictures; pictures of me! Every inch was plastered messily in small and large snapshots of me doing everyday things, such as picking up my laundry or heading into my theater. The better pictures had been enlarged and were shining in the light that was being given by the three candles. And in the center of that small room, standing upright with no obvious way of support, was a wedding dress! My mouth opened, but I covered it shakily and took a step towards the dress. With my other hand I reached out like a moth attracted to a flame. The material was soft and slid between my fingers like water. It shimmered prettily.

Without warning pale hands snaked over my eyes and mouth and dragged me out of the room as though Erik didn't want me to look at something horrible, like a dead body or grotesque creature. I was shaking fearfully and felt as if I might be ill. Indeed, as soon as Erik released me I fell to my knees in a sort of stupor. He didn't say anything, obviously waiting for me to, but I doubt he could have forced a word out of me. So we simply stood there until he broke the silence saying icily:

"When Erik was bad his mother beat him."

"Are you going to beat me?" I finally forced out, terrified. I saw him slowly shake his head.

"No. My mother beat me because she did not love me. But I love you, Christine, and I could never break a hair on your head."

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked him. He knelt beside me and took my face in his cold hands. I couldn't keep eye contact, feeling too guilty, and stared at his elbows. With a loud, sudden sigh he released me and stood with his unearthly grace. He stretched his large hand out towards me and I handed him back the key. He left me for his music.

----

Later sometime that month I had another strange experience. We were nearing the end of my singing lesson and my throat had turned to sandpaper. I tried not to cough, but couldn't help trying to clear my throat, which only made it drier. Erik immediately looked at me.

"I'm thirsty," I managed, and then began to cough violently, so hard that it brought tears to my eyes. He immediately stood and left. I sat down, coughing and swallowing at a rapid pace. Wiping my streaming eyes, I managed to get my throat under control and sat quietly, waiting for Erik to return. But my legs were bouncing restlessly and I stood and began to walk around aimlessly, examining the folders and touching his violin lightly. I walked over to the corner of the room, glanced around, and bent over. There was a thin folder resting in the shadows, and my natural curiosity told me to pick it up, so I did. I opened it with eager anticipation and found Erik's sloppy handwriting staring at me. What follows is his writing verbatim:

_I stand outside. She is actively. She is singing to herself! Her happiness is mine. A need to record. Suddenly she stops. I stop breathing and disappear. Rage is terrible. Anger, hate my end. Feelings…overwhelming. Exciting, new, terrifying. Admit, yes. Consuming. Lust, desire, wanting, craving, yearning! Yet unwilling…can't control. Conquer - impossible, yet necessary. _

What in the world…?

I stared at it, my heart racing and suddenly flung the papers back into the corner. I could not take his riddles anymore! His speech didn't indicate any love, but some of his actions certainly did. Love is a verb, is it not? But I did not want him to love me! I wanted to be back with Raoul, safe and secure. Acts like these sent me into a spiraling whirlwind of emotions and I despised them. I was tired of being confused about my own feelings, tired of Erik's impulsive temper, and so tired of the dark! I had not seen bright light in months. When I examined myself in the mirror I saw a different person. Before I came here I was a healthy weight, not fat, but an average build. My skin was tan and my eyes were bright. But all of that changed. I was pale, thin, and sickly-looking. My blue eyes had lost their shine and had become rather dull. I wept quite a bit over the physical effects this place was having on me. And all of this pain because he professes to 'love' me. I felt like spitting on him. But just weeks ago I had claimed that I did not loathe him. Oh, dear Lord…what is happening to me? His actions could cause me to grow affectionate towards him or loathe him with every fiber of my being. The feelings of affection begin so tenderly and are so breakable. Then a smart remark, a brash action causes those feelings to come tumbling down and be replaced by the cold clutches of hate.

What did I make of the dress? The wedding dress that haunts me like some sort of ghost as I lay down to sleep. He has some twisted, sick obsession and it's driving both of us insane. I would cry out of despair, but at the moment I feel too numb to do anything except sit down and write, pour out every one of my thoughts and emotions. The dress. A wedding. Between us? My stomach clenches and I feel ill at the very thought. Once I timidly tried to bring it up, but he would not listen to anything I had to say. So I was left to pondering by myself, once again. I wanted dear, sweet, steady Raoul – predictable and safe. A normal man! One whom I love.

_Love._ Love is a horrendous thing. Strange that a four-letter word could have such power. I hope you're happy, love, for what you do to people. People have and will die for this feeling, people have and will kill for this feeling, and people have and will steal for this feeling. Love is supposed to be a wondrous, happy emotion in which everybody is smiling and hugging and sitting in a patch of daisies. The movies, the books, the music…it all lies. Love is a dark, twisting emotion like alcohol, causing the people on the world to go into a mad haze until they satisfy their desires, until they can truly claim the thing they 'love.' Or is it lust? Lust was the prominent emotion projected by Erik when he scribbled down those jumbled thoughts. Perhaps it is just simply lust. But he has never advanced on me in any way. He has never touched me in an inappropriate way, his eyes have never spoken that horrible, deadly sin. One of the seven. So perhaps it is love. But I laugh bitterly.

Nobody really knows what love is until they have experienced it like I have.


	19. You Did It!

**You Did It!**

This part of my story is, by far, one of the most frightening experiences I have ever had, including being kidnapped. I felt no guilt in ripping the mask from his face, but seeing his reaction made my insides boil and squirm. Even now I lower my head in shame, having taken his dignity with his mask. Poor Erik. He has so much, and yet he has so little. I doubt he has experienced real happiness, even though he claims that my presence makes him happy, which I still must doubt. He seems to care for me so much; should I be wrong to leave him if the opportunity arose? If he presented me with the gift of freedom, could I leave staring into his pleading eyes? A prominent voice says yes, but another small voice whispers no. Though I used to beg for my release when I first arrived, I have not asked him for it in such a long while. He says he lives for me; could I handle being responsible of another man's death? It sounds horribly over-dramatic, doesn't it? But that's the way it is. The guilt of Mr. Sorensen's death is something I will live with every day, even though Erik begs me to let it go, that it wasn't my fault, and yet he lies. I heard him say, with his own voice, '_everything _I have done has _been for you_.' We have agreed not to lie to each other, yet our agreement is broken every day.

My shedding his dignity began much like any other day. I was meandering around in the afternoon, picking through books and thouroughly bored. Erik and I had been through a rather frightening spat a few days ago, and I was extremely wary when it came time to be around him. The anger in his eyes had rose so swiftly, and I shuddered simply thinking about it. Though I did not wish to anger him again, I decided I might as well visit. He said my company gives him pleasure, so why shouldn't I give him something without him asking for it? I grabbed a sweatshirt and went downstairs. Even though I have made the trip so many times, I cannot help but shiver at the sheer gloom of the staircase. It is so dark that I cannot see the walls on either side of me. But then there's the light that you can see if you look down; it's the light from the torch that he has burning in the small circular room. Then there's the strains of music that drifts up like a smell, and the smell only gets stronger the closer you go. Occassionally there is a pause, but a few seconds later you can hear it once again. I hurried towards the light and smell quickly, almost tripping in my eagerness. Knocking on the door softly, there was something of a crash on the organ keys and the door was flung open. I blinked in surprise and looked up at Erik, whose fiery expression softened at seeing me.

"You have come to visit Erik," he said quietly. His eyes were glowing with happiness.

I nodded, staring at him.

The reason was that he was wearing a different mask. It was smaller than his usual black one, which hid all of his face. Yet this one was _white. _It sounds like a silly thing to be bothered by, yet for some reason I was. It was like he had switched faces in a mere few hours. I could even see little traces of skin circling the mask. Another reason was his clothing. He had always worn several layers of his antique-looking clothes, and yet right then he was simply wearing a pair of pants and a thin white shirt. I then saw how thin he really is. He noticed me staring and shifted uncomfortably.

"You are not used to this one," he observed, almost sadly. "It is much more comfortable to wear. However, if it bothers you, Erik will switch back to the black one."

"No, no!" I said quickly. "It's fine. Really. It just came as a surprise."

He nodded, but as I sat down he quickly put on a black jacket.

"Why do you request my company today?" he questioned, standing and folding his arms imperiously. I shrugged, unwavered by his sudden commanding tone.

"Boredom."

His shoulders sagged slightly. "Ah," he said. "Boredom is evil. It cannot be tolerated, and it leads to the misuse of a perfectly good mind."

"Uh...okay?" I responded, unsure of what he wanted me to say. My eyes flicked involuntarily over to where I knew his folder that contained his unsettling paragraph rested.

"Are the books in your library boring you? Do you need new ones?"

I shook my head. "I just didn't feel like reading and wanted to visit you."

His eyes regained their glow and I could see his mask shift slightly. I believe he was near to smiling.

"Erik is composing."

I nodded. "Don't let me stop you."

"No. You inspire me."

And with that he turned around and sat down, then began to scribble furiously on a sheet of paper. I could not take my eyes off the mask. It reminded me of the time Lydia (how I miss her!) had been given a sucker from my mother for completing her schoolwork. She treasured it all day, and somehow I couldn't stop looking at it. I didn't ask her if I could have it and simply stared. And that night, while she was taking a bath, I went to her room and stole it. When she found out she went screaming to my mother. I denied having eaten it, but that was useless because my fingers were sticky and my mouth dyed purple. I was grounded for a week.

And somehow, this was exactly like that. I eyed his mask, knowing I really shouldn't, yet not being able to stop myself. I stood and went up behind him. He stiffened and turned to look at me, his eyes wide.

"What...what are you writing?" I asked hoarsely, keeping my eyes on his shoes in a vain attempt to look away from the temptation. I don't remember what he answered; my mind was full of buzzing noises. My one thought was that finally, after all this time, I would see whose face was hidden.

I had, of course, given the thought of disfigurement, but it seemed so much more likely that he wore a mask so that I couldn't see his face and, in the case of an escape, describe him to the police. The notion had clung to me all through this time, so my surprise was even greater when I saw his face. The most distinct noise, above my scream and his roar of rage, was the white mask clattering loudly on a patch of bare stone. It seemed to mock me, as if jeering at me:_ You did it! You did it_!

Erik's face is horrible. It is a sickly yellow color and the skin is stretched so tight across the skull that I was surprised it didn't tear. His cheekbones protrude sharply, and his eyes are sunken into their sockets, like a corpse. But the worst part is that _he has no nose!_ You think it impossible? It is quite true, in fact. Simply a gaping hole in the center of his face. His forehead stretches wide and gives way to his thin, black hair. His ears are probably the only normal-looking part of him. Yet all of these things are not so terrible as the look that was in his eyes that night. He made no attempt to cover his face, simply staring at me with his fiery, burning orbs.

I covered my eyes with my hands and sank to my knees, sobbing. So this was the whole reason for...everything. He reached down and jerked my hands up so that my eyes were left uncovered. I quickly shut them.

"Now you have seen Erik's face!" he screamed at me. My tears flowed faster and I cowered; he was too close...so close I could see everything.

"Give me your hands - your _hands_, you filthy slut!"

There came a sharp pain in my wrists as he enclosed his skeletal fingers around them and, with horror, I felt cold, dry, hard skin against my palms. I couldn't help it, and opened my eyes. He had laid my hands on his horrible face! I cried out and tried to tug my hands back, which he let go quickly. And yet he was nowhere near to being finished; he drew closer and grabbed whatever he could. His long, thin fingers enclosed roughly around my arm and I fell backwards, trying to escape from him, and yet he went down with me, his horrendous face much too close to mine. With horrible realization, I saw that he was lying right on top of me! A real, earnest scream escaped and I squirmed frantically. Yet he was still clawing at whatever he could, roaring unintelligible words at me, bruising my skin harshly. I was choking on sobs, terrified that he might indeed kill me.

"_Please_!" I cried. "I'm sorry! Please, let me go!"

He didn't seem to notice and continued to screaming at me.

"You have seen it! You have seen it! What do you think, darling? What do you think of beloved Erik's face? You were not satisfied at all, and so you simply took what you wanted! Ah, my dear, you are no worse than I!"

I began to sob harder, partly out of fear, but mostly because what he was saying was true! And suddenly his heavy weight was lifted. I heard sudden gasping. He was running his hands over his chest as if wanting to tear the skin off of him. His legs stood shakily, and he tottered around like a drunken man before collapsing on a pile of music, groaning. For what seemed like centuries the only sound to be heard was our crying. Yes - ours. Erik was weeping, too. His skinny frame arched over the huge pile of paper, he was sobbing as horribly as I was. When only my tears echoed around the stone room I tried to stifle them and looked up. Erik was lying on the papers as if dead. And, indeed, for one bittersweet moment I thought he was. But he sat up slowly, so very slowly, and stared at me. Simply stared longer than we had both cried. I hid my face behind my hair in shame and knelt as if in prayer. I was silently praying for forgiveness, and yet I knew that Erik would deny me something.

"Christine has been naughty."

The quiet sentence shattered my crazed thoughts and I went stiff.

"Christine has been a bad girl, yes?"

I made no response, choking on my salty tears. He stood and towered over me, blinking slowly. My head was bowed and my hands clasped the opposite arm where he had grippped violently.

"Please...Erik...I'm sor - !"

"Silence!" he thundered, his voice echoing around the room. I flinched. There was a small, heart-pounding silence before he spoke again in a rough, uneven whisper.

"Since Christine has seen Erik's face, it is a sign that Christine has seen past Erik's face. She loves Erik for Erik, does she not?"

What else could I do? He seemed over the edge. I could have practically reached out and touched his anger. So I nodded.

"Yes."

"Christine does not care about Erik's face?"

I hesitated. "No..."

"Good. Stand up."

I did, my head was still bowed. I doubted that I could have looked him in the eye even if he was wearing his normal mask. He grabbed my wrist and began to pull me to my room. The stairs were painful. He was skipping three stairs at a time; it was easy with his long legs, but I had to run to keep up with him. I pleaded with him a few times; to forgive me, and then to stop pulling me because it hurt. But he didn't even take his eyes off of their mark. We finally got to my floor and down by my door. He had not put his mask back on, and to see his face in the brighter light was terrible. I chewed on my lip vigorously. He put me in front of him and I stared into his thin chest, which was rising and falling at an alarming rate, as if he were taking his last few breaths.

"Christine," he rasped. My eyes flicked unwillingly into his. They were mixed with anger and pleading.

"Christine has seen Erik's face..." he almost mused. "She has been a good girl. She has signified her willingness...yes..._willing_...not forced...that is good, no?"

I nodded hastily. "Yes, Erik. I have been good, right?"

He nodded curtly. "Good. I will have your dress brought up sometime during the night."

"D - dress?"

"Yes, dear, your wedding dress."

"But - but I'm not getting married! I can't get married! Who am I getting married to?!"

"Why, dear, to Erik, whom you love. Erik heard it coming from Christine's own pink lips."


	20. The Day Hell Makes You My Bride

**The Day Hell Makes You My Bride**

Erik closed the door with a curt snap, leaving me to stand alone in the center of the room, my body in utter disbelief. I could not believe what he had just said. _Marriage?! _I suddenly couldn't stand it anymore and fell to my knees, tears appearing out of nowhere and blankly running down my cheeks.

"Dear God," I whispered, "why is this happening? Where are you? I had believed in you before this thing happened…but your absence during this whole ordeal is making me doubt. Why me? There are millions of girls in the world…thousands of Christines. Why am I the one he chose?"

There was no sudden reply, no burst of light from an angel descending into the room. I dragged myself to the bed, crumpled into a pitiful ball, and cried myself to sleep.

I woke up with my head aching. All the crying I had done the previous night had left me sore. Rubbing my eyes, I sat up and remembered, with a jerk of my stomach, I was marrying today. Today…to Erik. And –

The sudden thought of tonight burst into my head. Tonight! A wedding night! We would share this bed. I leapt off of it as though it were contaminated and tottered to the bathroom, where I heaved into the toilet, literally sick at the thought. Drained, I filled the tub with steaming hot water and slid into it, feeling only physical relief as the warm water relaxed my tense muscles. As I picked up the razor the glint of the blades caught my eye.

It would have been so easy. Simply drag the blades across my throat, a few moments of intense pain, and then I would escape this fate. Almost lovingly, I ran my finger down the blades and gasped slightly as a small drop of blood bubbled to the surface of my skin. I stared at the blades for the longest time, debating with myself if I should do it. Would this even do the trick? What if it doesn't? What would Erik do to me? I shuddered at the thought of passing out and him finding me draped over the tub, unclothed. My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. There was a great sloshing as I brought my knees to my chest hurriedly, looking at the door fearfully.

"What?" I asked loudly. "Don't come in!"

"Christine, you have been in there for three hours. Is something wrong?"

"No!" I squealed, wrapping my arms around my legs. "I'm just…not feeling well. Do we have to marry today?"

Was I really having this bizarre conversation?

Erik laughed strangely behind the door. "My darling, brides are always ill on the morning of their wedding. It is normal. And I so _desperately_ want to be normal…"

Goosebumps rose. I shivered.

"Your dress is waiting for you. Two more hours, my darling bride."

And I was left alone once again. After making sure he wasn't in my room I emerged in a towel and saw that a white dress had indeed been left for me, draped over a small armchair that rested near my wardrobe. Only a few tears ran down my cheeks as I saw that it was the dress I had seen in the room downstairs. Only a few tears. I seemed to be completely empty. A few minutes later found me struggling into the dress. I could not fasten up the back, and the skirt wasn't resting like it was supposed to go. Giving a frustrated cry that even my _dress _wasn't doing what I wanted, I shuffled over to the door and called out:

"Erik?"

A few seconds later, "Yes, Christine?" from the other side of the door.

"I can't get into the dress. It looks like we can't be married..." I trailed off hopefully. Erik said he wanted to be normal. Normal men have normal brides. Normal brides have white dresses that fit perfectly.

"I will find a way," he responded. I leaned against the door suddenly, thinking that he would come in and dress me, but he simply left and I quickly wiped my face dry, suddenly feeling ashamed of wallowing in self-pity. Tears had proven countless times to be ineffective. Erik came back and knocked. I hurriedly told him not to come in, but he unlocked the door anyways.

"Madame will see that you get dressed," Erik said, pushing on the door enough to allow a lean woman to sidle in. I gasped; I had not seen another person in such a long while! I even had to resist the urge to hug her.

"Who are you?" I breathed. "Why are you here? What are you doing here?"

The woman was smiling stupidly, her eyes bright as she turned me around and began to straighten my dress.

"No - wait!" I whirled around. "Who are you?"

The woman simply shook her head, smiling and pointing at the door.

"Can you not speak?" I asked, my face falling. She shrugged and looked at the ceiling, almost in exasperation. Then she began to roughly pull my sleeves into place. I was afraid she might rip the material. A few minutes later she was done, and all the while I was trying to coax her to help me escape. She ignored my words and pushed me down onto the chair, went into the bathroom, and came out with a comb. 'Madame' attacked my hair, and in less than ten minutes she handed me a small mirror that she had pulled out of her pocket. I examined myself. She had swept up my thick blonde hair into an elegant swirl on the top of my head. It was very pretty; my hair is so thick that I usually leave it down or pulled it into a ponytail, finding it too much to manage every day.

"Thanks," I said softly. "It's pretty..." Madame went over to the chair, where a long white veil that I hadn't noticed was resting. She placed it on my head and had me stand up. After walking around me a couple times, she clapped her hands together and nodded. I looked down on myself. I remember the dress clearly; it had short sleeves that exposed my neck and shoulders, a thin waist embroidered with shimmering silver roses, and a wide skirt that hid my feet. It was a very pretty dress. I don't know if Erik still has it or not. I have never bothered to find out, either. Madame pulled me towards the door, still smiling happily. When we were down by the library I had to be blindfolded again. She guided me outside and into the car. I wondered where Erik was for a few minutes; I could not feel his presence. We drove in silence for hours. I tried not to think about where I was going, but towards the end I couldn't help it and I let tears start sliding down my cheeks. Madame consoled me by taking my hand and patting it a few times. It reminded me of Mama Valerius, and I cried harder. The rest of the way I thought about tonight; my stomach was a mass of butterflies. I could not be intimate with Erik...no matter how hard I closed my eyes. I was burning bright red. The car stopped and I gasped without thinking about it. The door was opened for me, and I pulled myself out, stumbling a bit because of my blindfold. Suddenly a hand grabbed mine; it was Madame's.

"Monsieur is a fine man," I heard her whisper to me. I gasped again, but before I could say anything the car door slammed shut. I was being pulled somewhere; it smelled like moss and decay. There were a few stone steps to climb, and a heavy-sounding door creaked open. My feet kicked into gear, and I took a sudden step to the side, intent on running, but someone stronger than I jerked me back and shoved me inside a chilly room. My blindfold was taken off and the door shut quickly behind me. I blinked a few times. Pale sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the ceiling. Rotting pews lined each side, and I saw Erik standing at the front, dressed impeccably as usual, along with a preacher who was so old it looked as if he could drop dead any second. An old organ wailed suddenly, and I couldn't help but feel a ghost of a smile as I saw Erik's glowing eyes narrow in anger at the horrendous sound. One step. Two steps. Three...I counted slowly and breathed deeply as I forced myself to take the steps towards the altar...towards Erik. In the middle of the procession I stopped dead, unable to go another step. No one appeared to notice except Erik, who cleared his throat loudly and gave me a look that told me plainly what to do. So I hurried forward and when I was standing by my husband-to-be the horrible music stopped. The preacher opened his crumbling Bible and began the ceremony. I began to cry again, the tears falling thick and fast. I did not want to be married...at least not like this...not _to _this. I was firm in my resolve not to say 'I do,' and when the preacher asked me the long question about sickness and health and the things we were _supposed_ to do as a couple, I lifted my head and remained silent. A minute slowly dragged on. Erik's hand suddenly seized mine and gave it a harsh squeeze.

"I do!" I squeaked suddenly. Erik answered his question firmly, and only when he turned to me and I stared into his chest did I really begin to understand what was really happening. I was becoming married. Married! My eyes raised in horror as Erik lifted his mask slightly to reveal his dead, thin lips. I began to turn away, but he grabbed my jaw with his hands and lifted my face towards him. I whimpered and began to squirm, pushing on his chest and shutting my eyes tightly. When I felt his cold, dry lips touch mine I fainted.


	21. Vain Dreams of Love and Triumph

**Vain Dreams of Love and Triumph**

I regained consciousness as the car was crunching to a stop. _We must be home, _I thought dully. I pretended to still be out cold, for no particular reason except for the hope that Erik would set me in bed and leave me for the night. Or he could set me in bed, and him along with me...He pulled me out of the car awkwardly and carried me across the driveway. I was tempted to look, but he would know I was awake. My head was resting against his chest; I could hear his heart pounding loudly. I wondered if it always beat that fast. I was in the hall now...he was walking...but no! He turned to the right instead of the left. He was taking me into the library. After setting me down gently on a chair he removed my veil. There was silence for quite sometime. I don't know what he did in those long minutes, but after a while I heard him sigh.

"Open your eyes, Christine."

With a small sigh I obeyed, fully aware that my little act had not convinced him in the least bit, and sat straight up to find that he was kneeling at my feet. I felt a mixture of discomfort and flattery.

"Erik has a wife now," he told me matter-of-factly. I didn't respond and simply stared blankly at my lap. He slowly, so very, very slowly, reached out and gingerly took my hand in his. His hands are so large and cold, encasing mine easily. He stroked the back of my hand with his thumb softly, his eyes focused on our entwined flesh. Some tense minutes passed, neither of us meeting the other's gaze. My mind was only on one thing: tonight. I could not do it. I couldn't…and I wouldn't. My mouth turned dry and I swallowed a few times before finally forcing something out.

"Erik…about – about tonight…" I couldn't get past that. He looked at me with such boyish hope in his eyes that suddenly I felt like _I_ was in the wrong and _I_ was being cruel.

"Yes?" he breathed. I looked into my white lap again.

"I…I can't," I muttered. "I can't do it…"

There were a few silent, terrifying moments. His head bowed and his hand retracted back into his chest.

"Please say something," I whispered, petrified.

He suddenly reacted with anger, standing quickly. With a swift, cat-like movement he leaned over and snatched my wrist. I cried out as he roughly pulled me to my feet.

"Stop," he snapped. "You are pathetic, whimpering every time I touch you, shuddering each time I glance your way! Of course, that's to be expected, isn't it? Yes, I must say I rather expected you to say so…to be intimate with a monster such as Erik!" He gave a hideous, insane laugh. "It is unthinkable! Very well, dear angel of innocence…I only want to make you happy, and if this is what will…well, then, I suppose I shall have to sacrifice something else."

He gave me a particularly violent jerk. I tripped on my dress and fell against him, clutching his waist to support myself. He turned to face me, and I could see a smirk in his eyes.

"Now, now, my dear…why are you teasing me like that? One minute refusing me and the next throwing yourself at me!"

"I tripped," I said stubbornly. "You pulled me."

He unlocked the door. "Of course I did, dear." I could see him smiling queerly as he motioned for me to enter the room. It was strangely ominous. The bed looked so large. I turned around, my large skirts _swooshing_ around my ankles. Then there was the horrible thought that he might ignore my wishes and take me without my consent. It was suddenly difficult to breathe and I stared at him, horrified. His head was slightly cocked to the side and he thankfully closed the door; perhaps slower than usual. I quickly changed out of the dress and threw it with contempt on the chair where I caught sight of it that morning.

_I am married…_

The strange thought reverberated around my head. I had obviously expected to be married at some time in my life. But this was so very far from what I had in mind. After bathing again I gave a relieved half-smile and slid into the large, _empty_ bed. I was still safe in my bed, alone and safe. Everything was fine. Or at least, until I fell asleep.

_With a jerk I woke up to find the door wide open. Frowning at the peculiarity, I stood and quietly walked over to close it. It wouldn't; it appeared to be frozen in place. I stuck my head out of the room to find the hallway empty and, shrugging, returned to my bed. After I slipped into the sheets I was just closing my eyes when I saw large, pale hands reaching out of the darkness…_

I shot up, screaming and shaking. Taking several deep breaths to get control of myself, I looked around to find the door still closed and gave another sigh of relief. The dream had been terrifyingly vivid. I wiped my sweaty brow and laid down gingerly once again. My eyes were heavy and I closed them with a soft, quiet sigh. _I was safe_, I told myself calmly. _Nothing can get me here. I am alone…safe…_alone.

----

Being 'married' to Erik was not as different as simply living with him, except he began to call me 'my dear' and 'darling;' phrases such as that that signified adoration and love. I did not return them, simply calling him Erik as before. He did not seem to mind at all.

Our schedule did not change in the least. He still obsessed over my voice, increasing its pitch and flexibility beyond my wildest dreams.

"Erik, will I ever sing onstage for anyone else?" I asked him one day.

"Of course not, my dear," he answered gravely. My heart sank, but he continued: "You might sing to them, but you will not sing for them. You sing for _me_, and me alone…do you understand? I created your voice…sculpted it out of the nothing it was. It is mine, and I take advantage of it. Do you understand?" he repeated one last time.

I nodded quickly, confused by his bizarre logistic reasoning. He had begun to teach me how to sing opera. I had never really enjoyed the strange music genre, like most people, but Erik treated it with respectful reverence. Well, he was writing one, anyways.

"When will I be ready to sing onstage?" I persisted a few days later. He had said _might. _I might leave this house…I might see normal people…I might see sunlight…I might see Raoul.

"It depends upon how much effort you put into your training, my darling," he explained patiently.

I began to work harder than I had ever worked before.


	22. To Where You Are

**:: frowns :: I got a few reviewers expressing their dissatisfaction because Erik and Christine didn't sleep together. Time for a little chat! **

**I do not take sex lightly. I have the religious view that making love is a holy union and wonderful thing that is shared between a man and his _wife_ who are in _love_. You will not see Christine cheating on Raoul in any of my upcoming stories or in this one. Girls should not hand out their bodies like pieces of gum, and then get thrown in the trash when they've lost their flavor. **

**There are waaaay too many stories in POTO fanfiction that the primary goal and focus is the sex-scene. No, people, POTO is _not_ about Erik's lust for Christine. It is so much more in-depth and beautiful than some people make it out to be. If you are here looking for some heated sex-scene you've come to the wrong place. You will not find that in this or any of my stories. :: shrugs :: That's just the way I feel.**

**( /gets off soapbox ) **

**Quickly, about Erik referring to himself in third person: While reading Leroux, I got that Erik refers to himself in third person mostly when he's extremely happy or extremely angry. Maybe it's only me, but that's me, and I like it. **

**All right, all _right_, I couldn't resist sticking in something cliché, because it's so gosh-darn fun to write:: heaves a sigh :: Finally, on to the chapter! **

* * *

**To Where You Are**

He shook his head once more.

"No, no! Your emotion is weak," he snapped. "Now, try it again…_feel_ the music…."

Biting back an angry retort, I opened my mouth to sing once again, though I could not feel sad and lonely while I was so angry and frustrated with him. He immediately stopped me.

"I'm trying, okay?" I shot at him while he gathered his lecture. "I'm not perfect! Besides, I've never even seen or heard of this opera, so how in the world am I supposed to know how the character's feeling?"

"What a splendid proposition, my dear," he replied quickly, almost cheerfully. "It is, after all, almost our two-month anniversary. Why not celebrate it? Tomorrow night, then."

"I – what?" Utterly confused, I gave him a puzzled look. _Two months already?_

"To the opera, darling," he clarified good-naturedly. "You haven't been outside in such a long time, and I believe the performance would help you with your singing."

He took me back to my room and left me for the night. I sank onto the bed. To the opera. To people! Close interaction, to rub shoulders with normal humans who spend their days in the sunlight! I actually smiled a bit before lying down to sleep.

I woke with the same small grin on my lips. I had not been outside since the wedding, but that hadn't been very enjoyable for me, so I really don't count it. I bathed and threw on some clothes distractedly, leaving my hair dripping wet and down. Ignoring the breakfast that called to me from the dining room I ran downstairs and went to the music room. Erik was not in there. Frowning a bit, I was just going to leave and go to the library when I heard someone approaching. It was Erik, predictably, and he was talking to someone.

"No, you idiot, it has to be _tonight!_"

He opened the door in a frustrated manner and stopped dead when he saw me. With a jerk of my stomach I saw that he was speaking on a sleek black cell phone. In one smooth motion he had snapped it shut and slid it in his pocket.

"You're early."

I nodded, staring at his pocket where I knew my escape was laid.

"Christine, child, you'll catch a chill with your hair wet and you being down here," he said disapprovingly.

"Oh, yeah," I agreed distractedly, finally tearing my eyes up to meet his. "Erik, I wanted to ask a favor."

"Anything, my dear."

"Well," I started out, trying not to think of the phone, "since we're going out can I spend the day in my room? To get ready?"

He laughed. But this time the sound was not strange, cold and unpleasant. It was soft and caressing. I felt a strange shiver run down my spine. "You need all day to dress?"

I folded my arms and glared at him, though not really angry. "You really don't know much about girls, do you?"

He instantly became somber. "No…I daresay I do not." There was an awkward silence, but, as usual, he smoothed it over. "Very well, Christine, if you really need all day I shall grant it to you. Just go upstairs and dry your hair quickly."

"Thank you!" I shouted to him as I raced up the stairs. My thoughts flew everywhere as I began to work on my hair. I needed something bright that would attract attention. I was missing, and wouldn't the police have put photos of me everywhere? Someone was bound to notice me walking down a crowded hallway, and after a few minutes on their phones I would be back with Raoul. I smiled to myself in the small mirror as I thought of him.

But, however, I was disappointed when I opened the wardrobe and looked at the finer dresses. No bright, hot pink, no fluorescent yellow, no lime green. I gave a bitter smile at the mental image of me in a frilly, bright orange party dress. Well, it would certainly attract attention. I pulled out all of them and immediately began to eliminate the choices. Too revealing, too dark, too low-cut….Dress after dress was crammed back into the wardrobe. Finally I settled on pretty royal blue gown and spread it out on the bed carefully.

Hours later I emerged, completely decked and smiling quite shyly. Erik began to tie the blindfold.

"Don't mess my hair!" I cried out as the tie was being finished. I then laughed at myself, hard, as he led me outside and to the car. For once there was a comfortable silence as we drove, although I was thinking furiously. He had a phone…a phone to the outside world! And he had been talking to someone else! My heart fluttered at what my head proposed: maybe just one night, and while he slept I could take the phone from his pocket. No! _I couldn't!_ I admit to myself I wasn't brave at all, simply a frightened, timid child who shied away from her own shadow. And Erik was right to think of me that way – that's what I was.

A few hours later, after some delicate tête-à-tête, we stopped and I got out. There was a dull murmur of conversation and Erik took off the blindfold.

"Is my hair alright?" I asked anxiously, patting it and smiling.

"It looks…fine," he muttered. He does not give compliments of that nature often, and when he does he is extremely embarrassed. I smiled at his boyish attitude as we walked toward the grand building.

There were hardly any people in the halls, and those that were hurrying down did not make eye contact, clearly intent on getting to their seats as quickly as possible. I heard the orchestra finish their tuning and swallowed a hard lump that had formed. Of course he had planned this; planned to come late when the halls were empty. I did not want to spoil the evening by becoming upset over something I could not change, so I dried my eyes and swallowed my tears. Erik led me to our little box. I don't know much about the grander life of the high society, but we were rather secluded and I scowled at the rich for taking their freedoms for granted, shutting themselves up instead of talking and mingling with the fresh faces that littered the seats below us. The performance began, and after only a few minutes I became lost in the music and story. It was all magnificent, every aspect, and at the end I clapped enthusiastically. Erik, however, brought his hands together only once or twice before moodily staring at the stage.

"What's wrong?" I asked him.

"It was horrid," he answered, sounding almost disgusted. I looked at him in surprise.

"Oh, really?"

He nodded. "The biggest flaw was the dancers; they were clearly off-beat during the whole performance, and the orchestra rushed too many of the parts. The lead singer was supposedly a soprano, but you could hear her strain her higher notes."

"Hmm," I murmured dryly; leave it to Erik to find the fault in everything. "Anything else?"

"Quite a few, though I know you really could not care less." He was quiet for a few moments. "You could have done better."

Not sure if I should take it as an insult or compliment, I ignored the comment. I then noticed that everyone else was leaving. I made to stand, but Erik shook his head; we were to wait until everyone left, so as to not attract attention. I sighed and sat back down. To pass the time I asked Erik the questions that had been rattling around during the course of the show. He answered each one of them quietly and pleasantly. When he finally stood I mimicked his action.

Erik took my arm gently and led me to a now-quiet hallway. I glanced around and saw a group of young gentlemen conversing in the corner. Giving a faint smile that was mixed between jealousy and sadness, I turned my head away from things that would only make me weep.

"Thank you, Erik," I said softly as I stared at the thick, elaborate carpet that padded our footsteps.

"Not at all, my dear."

I could hear a murmur of voice coming from a room where grand double-doors guarded it. Once again my yearning for people kicked in, and I slowed a bit by the door, as if Erik would let me go inside to simply stare. He gave a gentle push to remind me to keep walking. The door opened, and my head whipped around to see a familiar face emerge, shaking his handsome head. I felt myself pale and forced my head up front. I prayed to God that he wouldn't, but….

"Christine…?"

The word echoed down the lonely hall. I felt Erik's step falter slightly, and all of the sudden he began to pull me again. I hurried to keep up with him, trying to mentally tell Raoul to stay away. I heard his feet begin to pad behind us. Erik sped up, and so did our pursuer.

"Please…" I whispered to Erik. "Don't hurt him!" He gave no inclination that he heard me.

"Christine! Wait!"

Raoul had broken into a run. He was right behind me! I felt a swooping sensation in my stomach.

"Christine – it's been months! Thank God!" he said shakily, and put a hand on my shoulder.

As soon as I felt the pressure something black was thrown over my eyes. What happened next occurred very, very quickly. There was confused jostling. Bodies were pressed against mine and I heard a slamming sound. Someone's hand was on my stomach and shoulder, though I had no idea whose hands they were. Suddenly the veil was lifted. I quickly accustomed to a gloomy room. I was lying on Raoul! Giving a cry of joy I was about to embrace him but cold hands quickly pried our bodies apart.

"No!" I screamed. "Let me go! Raoul!"

With a horrible motion, Erik's hand was around Raoul's throat, his eyes flashing with insane anger. Raoul's beautiful blue eyes went wide with disbelief and he looked at me. I was currently screaming at Erik, shaking his arm and begging.

"You dare touch my wife?" Erik hissed dangerously. Raoul glanced at me with such confusion and distrust that I began to sob heavily.

"Now you have upset her…we were perfectly happy until you came along, you impertinent boy!"

I had to tell Raoul, to let him know…so I stood and tried to get closer to him.

"Don't listen to him, Raoul!" I cried, reaching for him. I could not get around Erik's body, so I had to be satisfied with being a few inches away. "He's lying…he's lying!"

"Ah, am I really lying, dear?" Erik's attention snapped to me, a glint in his eyes. "Perhaps you would be so kind as to show this young man your ring…?"

I immediately hid my hand behind my back. "I won't," I whispered. I could hear Raoul's faint grunts, his face turning red. Erik's free hand exploded out of his jacket and snatched my left wrist. He held it to Raoul's eye level.

"You see?" I could hear the insane satisfaction in Erik's voice.

"No, I didn't want to! Please, Erik, let him go!" I was behaving like some damsel in distress, and now I must give the damsels credit for their actions. I didn't know how else to respond, so I simply cried and pled like a five year-old.

Erik's hand suddenly released Raoul, and he fell to the floor, gasping and coughing. I knelt by him quickly, but, of course, Erik grabbed my arms and pulled me up.

"I think it would be wise," he said to both of us, "that we depart. Good night, _Monsieur de Chagny._" His tone was mocking. "Please do not try and contact us again."

I screamed at him and reached for Raoul, frantic. "Help me! Save me! _Raoul!_"

The door shut behind us and in horrifying minute Erik slammed me against the wall, his hands gripping my shoulders tightly and his eyes alive with a horrifying anger. I screamed again and closed my eyes.

"Can you not simply accept your fate, stop struggling, and _shut up_?" he hissed at me, his hands clenching tighter around my shoulders. "You silly, stupid girl!"

I whimpered slightly squeezed my eyes tighter. If I couldn't see him he couldn't see me. I could still feel him, though. He tugged me out of the Opera House and back to the car. As soon as he tied the blindfold roughly I buried my head in my hands and sobbed. I felt so very alone, so utterly unable to do anything at all. I felt something cold placed on my shoulder and flinched.

"Don't _touch _me!" I hissed venomously and slid over to the other side of the car.

"Christine…" I could hear an almost apologetic tone in his voice, but I quickly cut him off.

"Never say my name again!" I spat at him. "I _hate_ you! I hate it here! I just want to go home…I want to go home…_Raoul!_"

There was a desperate silence. I brought my feet up onto the seat of the car and leaned my forehead against my knees, my tears staining the material of my dress. When the car finally pulled to a stop I blindly made my way out, although I had to grudgingly allow him to lead me inside, where I quickly jerked my arm out of his touch. We stopped outside my room, although he did not unlock my room.

"Unlock the door," I commanded him.

"No."

"Unlock the door, Erik!"

"Out of the question right now, I'm afraid. You must first hear me out."

"I don't want to!" I screamed at him. "Don't _you_ understand?! I don't want to hear _anything_ you have to say! Ever again!"

Erik took a deep breath, obviously forcing himself to remain calm while I screamed at him for a while longer. When I was done, my voice hoarse, I simply wanted to sleep.

"It is time for the two of us to have a small chat, my dear…or rather, for me to explain my inexcusable actions. I…" He interrupted himself with a small sigh. "…I have already told you that my temper is irrational and intolerable. I did not mean those things I said at the opera."

"The things you said to Raoul or to me?" I snapped.

"To you. I really have no idea what got a hold of me to hurt you in such a way. I apologize sincerely."

He sounded sincere enough. With a slightly hesitant motion, he took out his white handkerchief and gently cleaned the smeared makeup off of my cheeks. I felt numb once again, completely immune to anything except a desire to sleep and clear my head, so I unenthusiastically allowed him to finish his task and tuck the cloth back into his pocket.

"I love you, Christine," he said softly, taking out the key. "And no, you do not love me, but perhaps…someday…"

He trailed off, unusual for him to do, and ushered me inside. I didn't bother to change, collapsed on the bed, and fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.


	23. Bliss

**I'm a little hesitant on this chapter, as Erik and Christine's "relationship" is starting to form, so it's a little hard to explain. :: phangurl – ish grin :: **

**

* * *

****Bliss**

Our recent outburst led to several days of me being cold and stiff, though Erik seemed to be curiously gentler than ever before. And perhaps he was that way for the next event that occurred.

He demanded that I memorize the role of leads in several operas, which I thought silly, since I was ninety-nine percent sure that I would never sing onstage again. He had not mentioned me singing outside the house since his brief comment all those long weeks ago. Then there was the chilling thought that I would never leave this house alive, but I had to force myself to put that into the darkest crevices of my heart, if I wanted to maintain any hope and sanity that remained in me.

I was studying when he came to give me the horrid news.

"_Tu sei felice, tu sei possent…_" The strange words rolled over my tongue. I did not speak a foreign language, and this was very difficult for me, not only to pronounce, but to memorize. "_Pietà ti prenda del mio dolor…_"

"_Io vivo solo per questo amor_, my dear," said Erik quietly behind me. I jumped and spun around. He was observing me quietly, his arms folded and his eyes holding their unnatural glow.

"What?"

"You failed to remember that line."

"Oh." I glanced at the script once again. "I guess I did." I heaved a sigh. "Why do I have to memorize all these lines? I won't even be performing."

"Are you so convinced that you shall never leave?" His voice was blank and monotonous. I don't know what he meant by the strange question, so I gave a noncommittal shrug.

"I don't know what to think anymore," I said softly, smoothing the papers that rested in my lap.

"I cannot tell you what to think, Christine, no matter how badly I wish to." It sounded like a bitter, grim, confession. And it was, really, when I pondered the phrase further. Though, do you revel in your control over me, Erik? Do you smile with your twisted lips in satisfaction at the tormented state into which you have molded me? Does it delight you to know that you terrify me beyond belief one moment and then enthrall me the next? You must surely know of the power you hold over every aspect of my being; my mind, soul, and yes, even my body. I am aware that I am completely at your mercy. You only have to no longer care for my requests, and I would be yours in nearly every aspect, except the heart.

And does it delight you to know that I am aware of it? Confusing to think about, perhaps, but you know that I know. Do you go down to your music and laugh at me, lying in my bed, terrified that you might come to me? Yes, conceivably, you might. I am actually grateful to you for something – you have been a gentleman in most aspects of your behavior. There were the times when you became irrational and terrifying, and I do admit that I caused most, if not all, of those outbursts. And when I needed comforting, I could always count on you, even if it was not the standard methods.

"Please get ready, my dear," he instructed suddenly. "We are going on a little outing."

I quickly set the papers down gratefully and was making my way out the door when he stopped me again.

"Christine…it is preferable that you wear black."

I nodded to affirm that I heard him and went to my wardrobe. Black – his customary color. Perhaps we were going to dinner and he wanted us to match. Ugh. Black was for funerals. Maybe we were going to a funeral? I stopped questioning him, though, after a few more minutes. I was tired of the questions, and so I stopped asking them. I submitted meekly and mutely to nearly everything he had to say.

We drove in a blank silence. I could hear Erik's soft breathing. It struck me odd that he breathed. Absurd, I know, but I did not really consider him a _human, _a living being who needs to breathe and eat just like everyone else. Or _did_ he eat? I've never seen anything pass between his lips – then again, I hardly ever saw his horrid lips at all.

"Erik," I said suddenly, sitting up straighter, "do you eat at all?"

"What makes you ask that, my dear?"

"I've never seen you eat anything, and I was just wondering."

A pause. And then, "I eat much less than most people, perhaps one small meal a day…maybe less."

"That's crazy!" I exclaimed. "I think I would starve."

There was a breath of laughter from the other side of the car.

"Yes, that is what most of their reactions are, however, I find that food is simply put here to distract us from what is really important. It is a meager substitute that humans use to cover up the things they do not have."

Erik was truly out of the ordinary; he had a philosophy on food. The car pulled to a stop.

"Where are we?" I asked curiously.

"Shh," he reprimanded softly. "You will see."

My blindfold was taken off and I saw that we were standing on top of a hill with the car waiting patiently behind us. The sky was overcast, not dark enough to rain, and yet too dark to be sunny. I suddenly noticed we were overlooking a cemetery. My stomach was flooded with cold dread. There was a small crowd of no more than ten people standing around a fresh grave. We were silent for a while. I was trying to make out the people surrounding the fresh earth.

"Erik…who is it?" I asked quietly, not sure if I really even wanted to know. I believed I would really kill myself if it was Raoul.

"Why, my dear, do you not recognize Ms. Foster?" He raised an elegant finger to point to a small lady who was close to the brown coffin. "And Ms. Durrn?" Another familiar name.

I gripped his arm tightly. "No! You don't mean…do you?" I had not thought of Mama in such a long time, and now to be here was too much.

"Can we move closer?"

He looked down at me. "Would you really like to?"

I thought for a few seconds. "No, actually." No. I did not want to go closer. I do not like dead things at all. It just seemed to be respectful to see Mama one last time, although my childish fears took hold and prevented me. I blinked back hot tears.

"It is quite all right to cry," Erik said gently.

I shook my head furiously. "I don't want to. I'm sick of tears…I'm tired of them…I hate them!" And yet they cascaded down my cheeks unbidden. I leaned against him gently, almost gingerly, waiting for his nonverbal permission, which he gave quickly. That day, right then, he did seem human.

"I want to leave," I whispered hoarsely, looking away from the small group. Erik nodded and led me back to the car, his arm around me, his hand resting against my arm lightly. Mama Valerius was gone. She would never come back. I would never see her again…or would I? I believed in God, but I hadn't given Him much thought lately as a result of…circumstances being as they were. But perhaps there was an afterlife. Perhaps I would see Mama once again, and my mother, and my father, and maybe Lydia – if she was gone, too. I decided to ask Erik; he was well-educated in practically every aspect of life.

"Erik?" I asked softly, fingering the small folds in my dress. There was a little sigh to show that he was listening. "Where did she go? Do you know?"

"To sleep, I suppose. I've heard death is blissful."

"But maybe…she went to heaven?"

"That is for you to decide, my dear. As for myself, I hardly believe in what you call 'God.'"

"You don't believe in God?"

"I believe I just stated that."

It really shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. I had always thought everyone believed in some kind of higher being, if not God, then Allah or another form of deity. I didn't want to think that there wasn't a God. What was waiting for us on the other side? Nothing…an eternal blackness. I don't want to think about it. No matter how depressed and lonely I felt, I did not want to die to find nothing waiting for me. Blackness, forever darkness, no consciousness, nothing.

"I am truly sorry for your loss, my dear; you loved her very much."

I nodded, feeling a lump rise in my throat once again. I was surprised, though, when I felt something cold prod my hand that was resting on my lap, and I looked down, foolish since I was blindfolded. It was Erik's hand. He took mine gently, entwining our fingers. I did feel grateful, no matter how badly I don't want to admit it. I did. I was glad that he held my hand the rest of the way home, glad that he held it all the way inside. How was it possible? I don't know, really.

Nobody knows, dear journal, how _frustrating_ these feelings are! How I despise them! Emotions…I believe I have felt every one known to mankind. And all towards Erik, the man I should justly despise.

In an obvious effort to wash away my sorrows, he had me change and took me down to his music room. After settling the violin neatly underneath his chin, he gave me one of the most penetrating looks I had ever seen. I shivered; but the feeling was soon gone. He had begun to play – but, even more importantly, he began to sing.

His voice was beautiful simply talking, but his voice while in song…there's no way to describe it. It was softer than silk but more powerful than thunder. It enveloped me, surrounded me, filled me to the core. I was filled with bliss. All emotion was washed away. All sorrow, anger, everything was gone. However, one remained – wanting. I wanted to touch that music, to put it in my pocket. It seemed tangible. He was playing his very soul on those strings, and his heart was speaking through his lips. When he played his emotions on the organ, I thought nothing could be sweeter, but I was wrong, of course. Erik always outdid himself.

I don't even remember the lyrics he sang. The melody is implanted in my mind, unable to describe on paper. He undoubtedly wrote it himself. When he was finished there was a profound silence. The well-used violin hung down by his waist, and he sighed as he looked at me.

"Will you sing some more?" I whispered. To my dismay, he shook his head.

"You must go to bed."

"I'm not tired," I replied quickly, though in all honesty I had felt my body begin to complain. "Would you please sing some more?"

"It is time for you to sleep."

Lying in bed would only make me remember, remember the dreary sky, remember Mama…and think of his face. I suddenly felt nauseous. The disgusting visage had not presented itself, thankfully, in my mind for a while, and then it suddenly burst, clear as day. But his singing wiped everything away, made me forget about what kind of situation I was in. A lot of my previous actions make me blush crimson now, but they seemed completely rational and normal while I was doing them.

I threw myself at his feet and hugged his legs tightly, begging him to sing again.

"Please," I sobbed into his knees. "Please, sing…I don't want to…I want to forget…I just want to forget…"

And, to my great relief, he did.

He sang as he coaxed me to my feet.

He sang as we ascended the stairs.

He sang as he unlocked the door.

He sang as I climbed into bed.

He sang as I fell asleep.

Nothing mattered. I thought nothing and heard nothing but Erik's drug-like voice.

When I woke he was gone. The memories of Mama came flooding back, but I did not weep only for my loss, but for my gain – my new-found discovery.


	24. When I Look At You

**:: worships reviewers :: **

* * *

**When I Look At You**

"_Restati qua_._"_

"_Per carità, Zerlina!"_

"..."

"Christine!"

My attention was instantly snapped back into place. I sighed and apologized; having become lost in Erik's voice once again, my mind had gone blank – for the fifth time today. _  
_

"Perhaps I should desist in accompanying you," he threatened, his hands resting lightly on the organ.

"No!" was my instant reaction. "I can do it!" I breathed deeply from my stomach, motioning that I was ready to begin.

"_Eh! non c'è carità pei pari tuoi_._"_

We had just reached the climax when I felt a small stir in my stomach. I hiccupped.

There was an embarrassed silence, and I burst out laughing, occasionally interrupted by more hiccupping. Erik waited patiently for me to stop, which I eventually did, grinning. He cleared his throat when I hiccupped once again, and I took a dramatic breath and then held it, blowing out my cheeks. _One, two, three, four, five… _After ten seconds I exhaled loudly and waited. It didn't work. I hiccupped loudly and gave another apologetic smile and Erik, who seemed to be frowning. After another second he stood and went over to the door. I hurried to his side; being in that room for three or four hours urged me to leave for just a bit.

"I am simply fetching you a glass of water," he said, closing the door behind us. "You do not need to accompany me."

"I know. I want to."

Another awkward silence. Had I just said that I _wanted _to go with Erik? Yes, I had. There was the excuse that I wanted to stretch my legs and leave the dimly lit music room, but was that really it? Did I seek out Erik's company? In my own personal defense I must point out that if you had only one other person to talk to, you would try to talk to them, too. The darkness was chilling, and I moved closer to the rustle of Erik's clothes. I hiccupped and giggled nervously.

"When I was little we'd try to scare the hiccups away," I remarked cheerfully. "It never worked, though." I hiccupped again.

Suddenly, his flickering, lighting eyes were gone. I stopped dead and reached out hesitantly to try and touch him to make sure he was there. He wasn't. He wasn't behind me, either. He had disappeared. I took a deep breath.

_Relax, Christine, it's fine! Just go upstairs…He probably got tired of you and hurried ahead_.

I took another few hesitant steps, very aware of my extremely loud and anxious breathing.

_Christine…_

The word hissed out of the silence. I stopped and gripped the handrail violently.

"Erik? S – stop!" I squeaked. "It's not funny!"

_Christine…_

_Christine…_

My head was suddenly filled with my own name. I shut my eyes tightly and stomped my foot.

"Stop, Erik! Stop!"

As suddenly as it started, the whispers stopped. I was left in complete and pressing silence. Licking my lips and swallowing, I opened my eyes, though it was as dark as it had been with my eyes shut. Without warning, something grabbed my middle. I screamed quite admirably and spun around to find Erik, his eyes smirking.

"I hate you!" I said shakily, though I was laughing. I could take a joke; Lydia and I would scare each other all the time – jump out from behind corners or breathe heavily in the dark. We always laughed and ran off to relish our joke, so this didn't offend me. Then I noticed that his hands hadn't left my waist.

I grew silent and looked down. He must have realized it, too, because he quickly took his hands back.

"Forgive me," he muttered and, after skirting around me, began to walk up the stairs. I blushed in the dark and followed. The silence was rather deafening and a strained pause followed us up to the hallway.

"My hiccups are gone," I remarked suddenly, aware that they had indeed gone away.

He nodded. "Yes. Now what would you like to do? We might as well end practice."

"I actually want to sleep a bit, if that's all right." I shrugged. A power nap would do me some good. Erik gave another nod, and in a few strides he was by my door. I stood by him; we were so close our shoulders were touching. I really wasn't thinking about it. Brushing someone lightly wasn't a huge deal for me, so I didn't back up and simply watched as he unlocked the door.

"It'll be unlocked for me tonight, right?" I asked. "So I can come down to your library?"

He glanced at me and I saw, with a small flip of my stomach, that there was something of panic in his eyes.

"No," he said sharply. "I don't want you to come out tonight. Stay in your room the rest of the day."

"What? Why?"

He shook his head, pressed the key into my hand, and then rudely shoved me inside. "Hurry, and stay in there. Lock the door from the inside, and don't come out until tomorrow afternoon!"

When I simply stood there like an idiot he slammed the door shut. His voice came from the other side, tinged with urgency. "Lock the door!"

I did, still unable to comprehend what his problem was. Even though he had unpredictable and often violent mood swings, this was one of his more unnerving ones. I clutched the key tightly and listened to Erik walk back down the hall quickly, slamming the door to go downstairs rather loud. Giving a small shudder, I placed the key on the nightstand and sat at the foot of my bed, no longer tired. What had just happened? Why had he told me to barricade myself in my room? I gave a confused sigh and flopped onto the bed. The feelings and emotions that I thought would harbor forever were melting. Hate, anger, and frustration were becoming distant memories. Was I brainwashed?

I sincerely hoped so.

I didn't want to feel these things. They weren't normal. Normal victims of kidnap hate their kidnappers – right? I had never met one, but seeing them on the news, and the hate they had in their eyes…and here I was, seeking out my kidnapper's company and actually _admiring_ him. Yes, I did admire him. His talents made it difficult not to. What would happen if I escaped and someone found out that I actually admired my kidnapper? I shivered and lied down, the weariness returning. One large yawn later and I was deep in the bliss known as sleep.

----

With another yawn I woke up, blinking sleepily and wondering what time it was. There was the usual silence as I bathed and dressed. After wasting another few hours of my life twiddling my thumbs I decided it had to be time for me to leave, so I picked up the key and started downstairs, almost tripping in my haste. The key was sweaty in my palm. I stopped slightly when I got to the bottom of the stairs. I had the key once again. Surely…another little peek? This time I wouldn't go into the room; simply a glance and I would be satisfied. What else was Erik hiding from me?

The strains of the violin were drifting out of his music room, and I shivered with delight at the sound. It also encouraged me to probe into the darker depths of his mind, to see what twisted new fantasy in which he lived. So I picked the door on the far right. After unlocking it, I bit my lip, opened it slightly, and listened. He was still playing, probably completely oblivious to everything around him. I pushed the door open wider and took a step in to see better.

It was an extremely dark, depressing room. Black drapes hung down from the walls, making it look like a tent. Something large and black was placed in the center of the room. I glanced behind my shoulder once again; the tune was still ringing clear. My breath quickened as I took another step. And another. With dawning horror I realized what was in the middle of that room.

_A coffin!_

A silk-lined death box, looming like the spectral of death itself. I felt bile rise up in my throat. Faces were in that coffin; Mom, Dad, Mama…I saw Lydia in that box, too, and then I saw myself. I let out a small whimper and stumbled back, shutting my eyes tightly. I hated my mind; I _hated _it! It then showed me Erik in the box, his horrid face bare and his eyes wide. The key dropped from my hand and landed with a resounding _clunk_. It startled me, and I took another step back. When I ran into Erik, the fear of his reaction, coupled with the thought of him in the coffin, I fainted.

----

I cried when I woke up.

"You should not have snooped," Erik told me sternly. "Erik does not appreciate nosy women." He paced back and forth across my library, furious. I sobbed into the couch. _A coffin…a coffin…a coffin._ Why?

When I asked him that he stopped dead and looked at me. The seconds trickled by.

"One cannot avoid the destiny which awaits all of us," he said calmly, chillingly. "I believe it rather suits Erik, don't you?"

"N – no," I stuttered immediately. He was giving me chills, and it didn't help that he laughed strangely after I responded.

"Oh, Christine, your little white lies are pitiful, did you know that? Your whole body positioning and eye contact gives off an air of deceitfulness."

After another fresh round of tears I wiped my face dry and faced him. He was sitting in the small armchair across from the couch, leaning forward slightly, with his elbows on his knees and his fingertips connected. His dark hair was rather messy, and it hung around his face, framing his black mask.

_Sensual_.

The word darted across my conscious mind, and I stamped on it before it led to other thoughts. No matter how badly I wish to deny it, there was a powerful feeling about him that emanated a dominant…sexuality. I bit my tongue hard and looked at my hands, trying to quash the thoughts that had burst into my head.

"So…so you…_sleep _in the…the…" I couldn't get the word out.

"Coffin," he supplied. I nodded. So did he. Another silence followed. How could I think someone was almost attractive when he had a face like death itself and slept in a coffin? Disturbing. Maybe I'm going mad. Perhaps Erik has twisted me into exactly what he wants; a brainless singing slave. I pressed my palms into my eyes, creating a burst of color. I had to fight this!

"Would you like to sleep more, dear?" he suddenly asked, standing and offering his hand. I, as usual, ignored his hand and stood beside him.

"Yes, thank you." The words came out cold and stiff. He looked at me sorrowfully and led me to my room, where he faced me.

"Are you afraid of me, Christine?"

I looked up at him. Was I? "Sometimes." There were times when he could be positively sweet.

"That is not my wish," he said simply. His hand reached up to brush my cheek. I pulled away. I was going to _force_ myself to hate him. Another look of intense sorrow passed through his eyes, and I felt a pang of guilt. He unlocked the door and I stepped inside.

"I am not going to beg, Christine. Do not expect me to beg for your love. When you come to love me, it will be through your own feelings, and not the ones that I force upon you."

And, leaving me with this troubling statement, he shut the door.


	25. Strong

**Strong**

I was terrified that I might indeed fall in love with Erik, as he told me I would. He didn't say _if _you fall in love, he said _when_. Was it inevitable? Didn't I have a choice? But it wasn't possible for me to love him! He was a perfectionist, a radical…an insane homicidal maniac who screamed at me every time I hit a sour note and blew up if I disobeyed him.

All right, I'm exaggerating, but it was still rather terrifying to see his fists clench and his eyes narrow if I poked at his temper, which was happening more often now that I had decided to try and hate him. I made flippant remarks while practicing, hit bad notes on purpose, and sometimes in the morning I stayed in bed until he came up and pounded on my door. My distant plan that I hadn't dared to really think about clearly was that he would grow so annoyed with me that he would let me leave.

There was a silence after I sang a particularly off-key part of _Fuggi Crudele_. Erik simply looked at me, heaved a sad little sigh, and pulled off his gloves, setting them onto the organ.

"What have I done to upset you? Are you still pining over the incident at the opera house? You do not sing like that, Christine." He stood and came closer, his eyes (dare I say?) pleading. It was incredible how full of expression they can be.

"Please, tell me…" He was incredibly close, closer than normal for him, and reaching out to touch me. It was with his left hand, and before he stroked my skin I saw his wedding ring. All the rage and fury suddenly burst to life within my breast, the old feelings of hate roaring inside my head. This man had ruined my life. I slapped his hand away angrily.

His eyes changed instantly to a terrifying anger. His body was still coming closer, though, and his hands placed themselves on the arms of the chair. I leaned back into the cushion. Our faces were mere inches apart, and his eyes were boring into mine.

"Very well," he hissed. "I can play that game, too, Christine, if you wish. I thought you were…_mature _enough to give up these childish fantasies, but, obviously, I was wrong."

The voice that was coming from that black mask was giving me goose bumps.

I shuddered and he jerked back, standing at his full height, which made even Raoul pale in comparison. There was a tense, terrifying silence. My heart was beating loudly, and my breath had quickened. An eternity passed, and when I gingerly made to stand he cleared his throat slightly. I hastily sat back down and slowly pulled my legs onto the chair. If I made one wrong move, one incorrect remark, he would undoubtedly do something awful. There wasn't any room for pride when it came to dealing with Erik's temper. I could be bitter one moment and grovel the next.

When he finally turned on his heel and made his way towards the door, I stood and followed, very quietly, but not before grabbing some paper to add to my journal. He had left the door open and was quickly making his way up the stairs. After shoving the paper into my pocket I kicked up my heels and ran after him; I would have rather been with Erik than the dark, though I'm not sure that they were very different.

----

The next day, after a very icy practice, I was thumbing through some of my old journal entries, smiling sadly at my own pathetic attitude. I have – well, I hope I have – matured somewhat; have grown out of the timid girl I was. Erik forced me to grow up, even though I was unwilling to. Suddenly there was a loud bang at the end of the hall. I could hear heavy, fast footsteps coming down the hall, squeaked, and ran to the bathroom with my journal. When he made noise like that, he was in a foul temper. I stuffed my journal underneath the cupboard, positive he would never look there, and waited.

A short while later I was cornered against the wall.

"Where is my paper?!" he demanded, pacing in front of me. "Where is it?! Someone has been stealing from me steadily!"

I tried to give myself a blank look. He stopped in front of me and peered at my face. "It's you, isn't it, my mischievous little wife! Do you enjoy stealing from me?"

"No," I lied immediately. "I'm not steal – "

He cut me off by grabbing my wrist.

"You always were a horrible little actress," he taunted, his eyes gleaming. He straightened and looked around. "It's in this room, is it not?"

"I haven't been stealing from you!" I said angrily as he pulled me over to my bed and felt my pillows and blankets. Nothing uncovered, but still undaunted, Erik went over to my wardrobe, pulled it open, and fished through every pocket that my clothes possessed. Smugness was washing over me, and I was thinking of some snappish, smart remark that I could make when he found nothing else. Finally only one drawer remained; the drawer that held my unmentionables. A blush grew at the base of my neck, and I pulled him slightly.

"Don't you respect my privacy a little more than this? Don't!" One more attempt to tug his arm away resulted in a sharp, biting comment from him.

"You are my wife," he spat. "I may do this if I very well please." The drawer was opened and he brazenly stuck his hand in. I still burn to think of his hand searching. Mentally preparing myself to give him a thorough verbal lashing, I sullenly watched him search ever corner. My heart nearly stopped when a truly evil smile lit his eyes and he pulled his clenched hand out slowly, ominously. Then I remembered. The letter I had written to Raoul! I had completely forgotten about it. Erik held it out to me.

"Read it," he said softly. I refused. "I insist," he growled menacingly.

"No! I will not!" I tried to flee, to escape from him, but he grabbed my wrist harshly and held me close.

"Very well. I shall read it myself." Without further ado, he did. But he read it out loud, exaggerating every love-sick phrase and pausing after each one, letting it slap me in the face. Phrases jumped to my mind before he voiced them.

_How I hate him, Raoul!_

_Do you think of me every day like I do for you?_

_I still love you, even after what I said._

_He terrifies me beyond belief…_

Silence pressed down upon us when he finished with a flourish. His golden eyes were piercing me, and I was forced to stare at his shoes. Finally the stillness was broken by six icy words, words which petrified me.

"Christine has been a naughty girl."

A whimper was choked off; I was afraid to make a noise. The polished shoes disappeared suddenly, and my eyes forced themselves up to see the door slamming shut. A long-held breath released itself, and I sagged on the wall, amazed that that was the worst of it. But was it?

_Christine has been a naughty girl. _Whenever he said this it was followed by some horrible punishment. He had already locked me up for weeks, forced me to marry him...What would happen next? ...Rape? I barricaded myself in the bathroom and waited, trying to discern any sounds. But it was silent as the grave, and the only sound I could hear were my soft sobs echoing around the marble room.

I was afraid the leave the next morning, but did eventually because of hunger pains. My plate rested on the table, as usual, but this time I had company. Resting by my fork was a small piece of paper. Upon closer examination I found that it was a clipping from a newspaper, and I snatched it up greedily.

_Christine Daae has been missing for more than a year. The NYPD, now confident in her murder, have closed the file. "It is with extreme reluctance that we are forced to close it," said a spokesman. "But Daae has been missing for quite some time. She vanished without a trace. We even have our suspicions that she left on purpose." _

_However, Raoul de Chagny, Daae's old romantic interest, is still insistent on her survival in her captivity. Changy claims he saw Daae at the opera, though there were no other witnesses. Chagny's family is now concerned for his mental health. They plan to have tests run to determine his stability. The NYPD are still on the look-out for Daae's body. If you have any information please call 1-212-560-2730._

My stomach dropped and I clenched the paper tightly in my trembling hand. Thoughts ran through my mind.

_I have been gone for more than a year._

_Raoul is in trouble._

_I am dead._

No one is looking for me.

With a shrill cry I ran to my room and sobbed into my pillow pitifully. The reality of my situation hit me with a freshness that burned like fire. The only comfort I could give myself was the thought that Raoul still knew I was alive. Or...he believed that I was. He had told me about his family, and I knew enough about them to know that they cared about each other. They would spare no expense to see that Raoul got the proper "treatment." What if he finally believed them, moved on, and forgot about me? I was doomed to live here forever! A renewed set of sobs took hold of me, and I looked up only briefly when the door opened a while later.

"Go away," I sobbed into my damp pillows. "I hate you...Why did you show that to me?"

"Something had to put you back into reality," was the calm, cool reply. "You have deluded yourself for far too long."

He sat on the edge of the bed hesitantly. I was too busy crying to really care what he was doing. A cold hand was placed on my heaving shoulder, and when that happened I jerked away and fixed him with an icy stare.

"Leave me alone," I hissed. "You...you monster!" It was quite a childish insult, yet he reacted as strongly as if I had slapped his face. His eyes grew terrifying, and I faltered slightly in my gaze. He stood and stormed over to my door, which he shut with such force that I jumped. I cried myself to sleep once more; I was beginning to loathe myself, too.

Nothing good has resulted with me trying to hate him. I don't feel any sense of relief or satisfaction, nothing. I feel cold and confused…slightly ashamed. Hurting a human being emotionally is overrated. There really is not long-lasting satisfaction. Perhaps a brief, selfish surge of pride at the hurt, but afterwards, when you think about, you feel ashamed.

I had another dream that night. It was a dream where you knew you were awake, but you keep dreaming.

_I was standing near a rocky shoreline. The waves were beating mercilessly against the salty rocks, and the wind roared. There was a shout from behind the rock next to me, and I scrambled over it to find Erik drowning. He reached for me, calling my name. I stared._

'Save him!' I told my dream-self. 'Save him! He's going to drown!'

_I stared like an idiot. Another wave engulfed him, and he emerged, coughing out sea water and his large, pale hands scrabbling at the slippery rock. A shriek of wind nearly sent me tumbling down to join him, and I frantically regained my footing. _

'_Christine!' he gasped, reaching. My heart leapt, and I knelt down. Our fingertips were touching, but before we could grasp hands another hand grabbed my shoulder. It was Raoul. He was looking at me with concern. _

I tossed around in my bed, trying to wake myself. Wake up!

_Raoul pulled me away from the rock. 'It's dangerous,' he told me. When I looked behind me, Erik was gone, swallowed by the waves. _

My eyes were wrenched open and I sat up quickly, gasping and expecting Raoul to be near. Pillows and a downy coverlet were my only comfort, and I hugged them tightly. I didn't want to think of the dream, to try and relate it to anything, but of course I did.

Erik _is _drowning. Of course not literally, but drowning nonetheless. He is begging me, in his own peculiar way, to save him. Like the idiotic child I am, I am simply staring, watching him die slowly, painfully. Why? What's holding me back? Is it Raoul?

_No!_

Raoul is _good! Safe! _He is my shimmering light, my beacon, my sanity. How dare I think ill of him! But my reasoning, maddening side tells me to look at it with new eyes. Was Raoul the reason I am afraid to feel something for Erik?

_Yes_.

I feel guilty in loving and feeling for someone else. There is a raging, internal battle inside of me, each side claiming for victory. One side begs for the safe, predictable, loving and gentle Raoul; the other, the unknown – dangerous and mysterious. But am I brave enough to cross that chasm? Could I cross into the unknown headfirst, unsure if I'll ever surface? As I pour out my innermost secrets and desires onto this thin, feeble piece of paper I can hear the strains of his organ. The notes are making tears sting my eyes.

I'm sorry, Erik. I'm sorry I'm not strong enough.


	26. You Are My Own

**You Are My Own**

It was cold once again. Drafts of cold air swept down the halls mercilessly and I always wore several layers of clothing. I wasn't very enthusiastic about Christmas this year. _This year_. Was this to be my fate? Living year after year here until I was old and gray? This caused a few nights of sleepless anxiety, wondering about the future. To try and comfort myself, I tried to live completely in the present. I never thought about much except what I was doing at the time, although it was rather difficult. My mind drifted more and more to the future now. I was afraid. Deeply. Uncertainty causes fear, and I had quite a bit of both.

There was the usual stuffy silence when we finished our lesson. I was irritated with the harsh critique he had tabled for me, although I knew he was right. My attempt to concentrate had failed during our last song. He surprised me, though, by his next statement.

"If your pride will allow it – " I glared at him " – I should very much like to give you something."

"A Christmas present?"

He nodded. "Something of the sort. Change into something warmer, please, my dear, and we will leave."

When he unlocked my door I brushed him lightly going inside. A shiver ran down my spine and I shut the door hurriedly. While I changed I contemplated the shiver. I hoped it was just my body acting up, and not my mind telling my body to act, if that makes any sense at all. I can't control some aspects of my body, such as the need to breathe and blink, and I hoped that that was one of those times. There was an almost bubbly feeling as I wondered what he was going to surprise me with. He was always offering me things, asking if there was something specific that I wanted, though I always said I was fine, so I was sure it was going to be something extravagant, something materialistic, like my necklace, which I fastened around my neck almost reverently.

The car was silent, as usual. I asked him where we were going, though I knew I wasn't going to get an answer.

"You will like it there," he said quietly. I bit my lip and leaned against the cold window, feeling the car jostle slightly. We drove for seemingly endless hours. I dozed for a while, but couldn't fall asleep. Embarrassment and discomfort played the biggest parts. In agitation I began to twirl my gold ring around my finger.

"You are upset." The simple sentence jarred me, and I stopped rotating the band. He waited for me to say something, but I had nothing to offer. If I said No, I wasn't upset, he would know I was lying. If I agreed, he would ask why, and I certainly didn't feel like explaining myself; least of all to him.

"I wish you would trust me, Christine," was his response to my silence. "I do not see why you cannot."

I gave a silent scoff. _Of course I can trust him_, I thought bitterly. _He only kidnapped me and forced me to marry him_. _And now I'll simply pour out my soul to him, confide my deepest, darkest secrets and fears – _

My thoughts were cut off as his cold hand took mine once again.

"Tell me," he coaxed gently. "Tell me what you fear." His voice was truly enchanting; I wanted desperately to throw myself into his arms and tell him everything. Yet I forced myself to be level-headed and simply sat.

I fear the past. I fear the future. I fear my feelings. I fear my thoughts. I fear you, Erik. I fear your terrifying power over me. I fear your voice. I fear your music. I fear the elegant fingers that play that terrifying music. I fear your eyes. I fear your mask. I fear your face.

In short, I fear everything. A foolish, stupid girl am I!

My heart fluttered and my mouth opened. I was going to confess. It was coming, bubbling to my mouth, but, thankfully, the car stopped suddenly, and we leaned forward slightly. Erik sighed and took his hand away from mine.

"Where are we?" I asked, quickly trying to forget how close I had come to revealing myself. His answer was to pull me out of the car and tug off the blindfold gently. I bit back an excited gasp; cars and people surrounded us, but the best part was the fresh and bright light that hit my face. I froze and looked up into the clear, blue sky. A large smile grew on my lips, and I faced the rising sun.

"Come, my dear," Erik said almost urgently, tugging slightly at my arm. "I fear you catching a cold."

I laughed at that; it was nowhere near cold enough for me to fall ill, but Erik's persistence eventually forced to walk towards a tall building that overshadowed us. Erik led me, ignoring the stares that followed. We entered through huge glass double-doors into a beautiful foyer. The building was a hotel, but it was like a ghost town. The polished wood furniture was empty, and the only man behind the front desk was a small, nervous-looking man in a crisp suit bowing respectfully to Erik, who returned the gesture with a curt nod. Nice-suit man hurried to Erik's side.

"R – room C23, sir," he stuttered, every inch of him seeping out a terrified respect.

"You could not manage to accommodate a ground floor room?" Erik demanded suddenly. Both the man and I recoiled slightly, and my stomach dropped to the floor. A room? For the two of us? We would share a room?! I had been kinder to Erik, and the car ride had been rather touching, but that did _not _mean I wanted to share a bed with him! I clenched my stomach to try and keep it in its proper place and breathed deeply, my head spinning out of control.

"Christine?" Erik questioned, concerned. He peered down to study my face.

"W – what are we doing here?" I asked hoarsely.

"You," Erik snapped at Nice-suit man. "Fetch a glass of water." The man nodded, looking relieved that the attention and pressure had been taken off of him, and ran off. Erik took my forearms gently.

"What's wrong? Have you fallen ill?"

I shook my head. "What's going on? What are we doing here?"

"It's a surprise."

The hotel assistant suddenly hurried into sight, carefully balancing a tall crystal glass filled with ice water. After thanking him I gulped it down gratefully, quenching my parched throat. Erik took it from me after I had drained the last drop, shoved it into the man's trembling hand, and escorted me over to the elevator. Before I could question him again a _ding_ sounded and the doors opened smoothly. We stepped inside. The banister provided much-needed physical support, and I leaned on it gratefully. Music echoed softly around us, and I couldn't help but giggle slightly; it was elevator music.

"I don't know if I like surprises," I muttered, shutting my eyes tightly to try and block the disturbing mental images that came to mind. The doors cut off Erik's reply, and we stepped into another beautiful empty hallway, or rather, he tugged me out into the hall. A door waited for us at the end of the hallway, a door that had gleaming, menacing brass symbols on it. C23. The hallway suddenly seemed very long, and I felt a growing dread as we approached the door. Tremors overtook me as Erik set me in front of him.

"Nothing that is said in that room shall escape my ears," he said slowly, seriously. "I understand that you appreciate privacy, but this is crucial."

I had no idea what he was talking about as his long fingers curled over the brass doorknob and twisted it. I felt faint.

"She knows nothing," he went on, turning the knob a little more. "I have made sure of that."

He opened the door slightly, took a step back, and motioned for me to go inside. My feet seemed twice their normal side as I took the five steps that seemed to echo damnation with every fall. And suddenly, to my relief, he curtly shut the door behind me. Giving a relieved sigh, I leaned against the door, until a shriek interrupted me and I was suddenly jumped on. I nearly screamed out of fright until I realized that the person who was hugging me tightly was Lydia!

_Lydia!_

I looked up to find her wonderful face smiling and crying. Together we sank to the floor, sobbing and hugging tightly. We were both stuttering, trying to apologize, trying to explain at the same time. It must have been a sight to see.

"I'm sorry!"

"No, it's me! I've been so stupid!"

"No, it was me!"

We moved over to the couch after we recovered from our hysteria. It was then that I noticed her rather round belly. I grinned; my head was giddy and my heart was beating at an alarming rate. Lydia smiled and squeezed my hand.

"Where should we start?" she asked quietly. She had grown so much! My last strong memory was of a rather irresponsible, flippant young adult. My older sister had grown quite wild after our mother's suicide, but now, she had an air of dependency and responsibility about her. And she looked so…_motherly_. Her hair, which used to be nearly waist-length, was cut short and framed her face. Her clothes even suggested a maternal air. A brightly colored Christmas maternity sweater and slacks completed the picture. I gave a small grimace when I thought about what she might gather about me from my clothes and manner, and then my heart skipped. My kidnapping! She could save me! Then the light bulb then came on. _That_ was what Erik meant.

_She knows nothing_.

Lydia knew nothing about my disappearance. I didn't doubt for an instant that Erik had lied or that it was impossible for her not to know. Erik could do anything that he set his mind to. But I gave my head a little shake; no thinking about Erik right now. This was time for Lydia.

We agreed with her to start out first. She motioned to her belly, giggled, and said that this was her fourth.

"You're an aunt, Christine!" she laughed. I immediately felt a swell of pride. Lydia went on to talk about her life since Mom's death. She had left New Jersey and moved down to Pennsylvania, where she met her husband, Michael Keith. Jealousy struck at me; Lydia had lived the perfect life. She said she loved Michael, enjoyed her job, and had three healthy, happy children, with a fourth one on the way. I was left rather speechless when she, breathless and flushed, but nonetheless excited, asked me what I had done.

"I…moved to New York," I said vaguely, looking out the window. The sun was high, and I, breathless, walked over to the glass. I hadn't seen the sun in such a long while! The beautiful shadows it cast, the wonderful light it gave! The glass seemed to be in my way; I spread my fingers out over it longingly. I looked back at Lydia.

"Do you mind if we sit on the balcony?" I pleaded, moving my hand down to the handle. Lydia laughed.

"Christine, it's the middle of December!"

I nodded. "I know…I just…please? It's hot in here." She nodded and I opened the door eagerly, drinking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the city. I let the sunshine wash over me and closed my eyes for a while. When they opened again reluctantly I saw Lydia watching me, looking bemused.

"But what have you been doing? Have you met anyone?"

I was sorely tempted to simply tell her the whole, horrible truth. So tempted! I even began to ready myself, to think of the best way to explain it, where to start.

_Nothing that is said in that room shall escape my ears_…

His words rang in my head. No, I could not tell Lydia. If I began to tell the story, I would be dragged out before the first sentence was finished. And I desperately wanted to stay with her as long as possible.

"I just – I live in New York." Short and simple, but Lydia pressed me further. "And…I work at a theatre. I haven't met anyone, though."

Lydia clapped her hands. "Christine, you're living your dream! What's your theatre like? What roles have you played? Tell me everything!"

My short, jerky answers alerted her slight suspicions, I'm sure, but she said nothing. We simply sat in the crisp, wonderful air and sunshine. My face was kissed by a wonderful sunburn, and even though I looked like a tomato the next few days it eventually gave through to a healthy glow once again. Lydia shivered.

"Can we go back in now? It's cold."

No matter how much I wanted to please Lydia, I also wanted to stay outside and feel the sun as long as possible. To try and placate her, I grabbed the coverlet off the bed and handed it to her.

"Thanks…I guess," she muttered, wrapping it around her shivering form. "Why do you want to stay out here? It's freezing."

"It's a really nice day," I invented lamely. We continued to talk, although we conversed mostly about Lydia and her children. I was grateful for this and pressed her for the tiniest details that could take up time.

When I asked her about her new baby, she smiled and said that she and Michael had always liked their children to be a surprise. She then confided in me her wish of having another little girl.

"I only have one, and Becca's desperately lonely. She needs a little sister." Then she gave me a sly grin. "I know you're lying, Christine. You've met someone! Tell me right now who he is! Come on, we're not sixteen anymore! Is it serious? Do you love him?"

"I…don't know," I admitted. Lydia gave an understanding nod. "How can you tell if you're in love, Lydia?"

Her face shone and she started. "Well, for Michael it started out slowly. It wasn't love at first sight, but eventually my feelings for him deepened. I never wanted to go home after our dates and every time I saw him I wanted to fling myself into his arms." She gave a shrug. "Corny, right? But that's how it was for me. So…what's his name?"

"Erik."

"Erik who?"

"Anderson." A well-used, quite common name. It shouldn't arouse suspicion. I didn't know his last name. I asked him once, but he wouldn't answer. So I was simply Christine, I suppose. Not Christine Daae anymore. Just Christine.

The sun rose and sank in a graceful arc as the day passed, and eventually sunset came.

A knock on the door interrupted our quiet conversation. I knew that it was time for me to leave, and I tried to hide the disappointed tears stinging my eyes.

"I have to go now," I whispered hoarsely. Lydia gave me another squeeze.

"We'll see each other soon, right?" she asked brightly. "I can come visit you in New York, and you can meet Michael and the kids! Or you could come over to Pennsylvania."

"Maybe," I said vaguely. I didn't know if Erik was going to allow me to continue seeing Lydia. My gratification for him was quickly overwhelmed by frustrated anger; he was controlling every aspect of my life. Who I could see, who I couldn't, what I could do, what I couldn't – even what I could say and what I couldn't! The tears dried quickly and I blinked to find Lydia up and bustling, grabbing a small sheet of paper and a pen.

"Well," she was saying, "I'll just give you my e-mail address, and we'll arrange something over the net, all right?"

"Uh..." I objected quietly. "It would probably be best if you gave me your home address."

"Why?" she looked surprised and turned to face me.

"Because..." I played for time by pretending to concentrate on a nail, thinking furiously. "Because I'm in the process of moving! Yeah, that's why I can only write you, and my computer is all packed up."

"Oh, okay." She scribbled out her e-mail address and wrote her home address, which I slipped into my pocket protectively. There was another knock on the door while we were hugging and saying farewell.

"I'll try and write soon," I promised tearfully. The magnificent sun was casting long shadows in the room, and I bade it a silent, emotional farewell, also.

"I can't say how wonderful it is to see you again." She squeezed my hand tightly, gave me a watery smile, and let go. The doorknob was cool on my palm and I twisted it slowly. I didn't want to leave. But Lydia was smiling at me expectantly. She was fine. She believed this was the beginning of a better life. I knew that this was the beginning and the end of my new relationship with Lydia. Another louder, more persistent knock shook the door. I opened it, stepped out so Lydia wouldn't see my tears, and closed it quickly behind me. I was afraid that if I didn't I wouldn't have the courage to step back into my metaphorical dungeon. A sigh later and Erik was standing beside me. Amazingly, a warm wave of gratitude washed over me. Although I knew I would probably never see Lydia again, the obvious effort of Erik trying to make me happy was extremely touching.

We stepped into the elevator. Erik glanced at me.

"Anderson?" I could hear the humor in his voice.

"Hey, it was the best I could come up with at the time," I defended, but grinning nonetheless. There was silence as we walked out to the car. I threw another wistful look at the wide, beautiful sky and ducked into the car. After another few minutes of silence Erik said:

"You'll be wanting to write to her, I take it."

I nodded quickly, hopefully. "I have her address…" I muttered, pulling it blindly out of my pocket and clenching it lovingly in my hand. "You'll read the letter, won't you?"

"Naturally."

Disappointment sliced me. "If you want me to trust you, why won't you trust me?" I asked sullenly, looking away from him.

"A fair observation, my dear." He was silent for a few moments. "You would like to write to her, would you not?"

I nodded once again.

"If you are to be permitted to write to her you must accept the fact that I shall read your letters, for…obvious reasons."

I accepted immediately. Really, I was willing to do just about anything in order to keep in touch with my sister. A silence covered us like a blanket. The car drove at a steady pace, and the heater was blowing comfortably. I felt my eyes droop and then pinched myself. No, I would not fall asleep. It would simply be too much of an awkward situation. But my mind and body were shutting down against my will.

"Erik?" I slurred in a desperate attempt to keep myself awake.

"Yes, darling?"

"Thanks," I murmured, trying and failing to stifle a large yawn.

"Think nothing of it. Besides, you needed a change of scenery and fresh air."

I felt so disgustingly comfortable. At peace. And just this morning I was terrified of every aspect of my life. Yet today seemed to have changed my feelings on Erik (for the time being).

"Erik?" I muttered once again.

There was a sigh. "Yes?"

"Never mind." I yawned widely once again. My head fell heavily, but the small discomfort in my neck forced me to keep it upright. The back of the seat served as a more comfortable pillow, but they still forced me to keep my neck tight. With my brain shutting down, my head lolled to the side and landed on Erik's shoulder. It was surprisingly comfortable, and I waited for him to shrug me off. He didn't. A little sigh escaped me and, after a few moments more, I fell asleep.


	27. Tranquility

**Tranquility**

There was a tender and frightening moment a while ago. I had just finished practicing, and the two of us were rather pleased with the progress we had been making; and not just about my singing.

"Remember to relax, Christine, that's extremely important," he was saying to me as he shut the door, encasing us in a thick, velvety blanket of darkness, with his glowing eyes as my only light. "Lately you have become so tense."

I nodded, then, thinking that he probably couldn't see me, simply stated, "All right."

"Now that we have _Don Giovanni _behind us, we shall start on _Faust_. You know, Gounod, who wrote _Faust_, admired Mozart's opera so much, that – "

He stopped abruptly at the foot of the stairs and clenched the banister. It was done quietly, so I ran into him and, after I detangled myself, he gave a strangled cry and fell to his knees. I cried out his name and knelt beside him, urgently asking what was wrong. He closed his eyes, sheathing me in utter, complete darkness. I couldn't see anything at all, whimpered slightly, and clutched his arm. The only sound was his faint panting, but I soon spoke up.

"What's wrong?" I shook his arm slightly. He shook his head and opened his eyes, which looked utterly weary. After he pulled himself to his feet and I followed quickly, staying close in case he might fall again. We began to climb, but it was much slower. Erik seemed to be having trouble putting one foot in front of the other. Muttering something incoherent, we finally reached the door and he opened it, bathing us a dim light. There was a soft sigh and he used the wall for support when he unlocked my door. I stood still.

"What was that?" I persisted. "What happened?"

He looked at me slowly and gave a small shrug. "Nothing to be concerned about, my dear. Good night."

For the first time in a long time I felt a surge of responsibility. It was my obligation, my duty! I took his wrist and felt for his pulse (hey, I had learned _something_ in nursing school). It was strained and weak. He tried to tug his arm out of my reach, but I gave an impatient jerk. After pushing his sleeve up a bit more, I examined his arm. It was disgustingly thin and pale; I glared at him.

"You need to take better care of yourself," I said sternly, "starting with eating more. Your body needs more food than it's currently getting."

"You _aren't_ my mother," he snapped.

"No," I agreed, feeling a slight blush at the base of my neck. "But I am your wife."

----

So I demanded that he eat with me every day, every meal. It was tricky, because he could not eat with his mask. He threw a fit and fumed at me for several days, angry for suggesting that he dine with me, but I was hardly ruffled. He needed to eat more. It was my job to see that he got into better health.

Then he presented me with his new mask. It was similar in shape and feel as his previous one, but this one curved above his lips, leaving them exposed. It was strange at first, and uncomfortable, but eventually I did become used to his thin lips, and he began to wear it more than his full-face mask. To my amazement and humor, we became shy around each other. It was the longest time we had gone without having an argument, and we almost seemed unsure of what to say or do. Sometimes we did engage in a very interesting topic or debate. He would always win, of course.

Meals were still strained. He never seemed to be able to clear his plate and would push the food around like a sullen child who didn't want to eat his vegetables.

"Eat," I commanded, giving a small gesture. He sighed moodily and stabbed his potato, but did not put it to his mouth.

"Eat it," I said again, taking a small sip of my ice water.

"I don't find myself particularly hungry," he muttered. "I could be doing something much more fulfilling, like – "

"Composing?" I cut him off irritably. He nodded, and that made me furious. "You're sacrificing your health, your life, for your music! It's no wonder you're so thin! You hole yourself up and starve yourself just to write down some stupid eighth notes! Now be normal, pick up your fork, and _eat your dinner_!" To show how really angry I was, I picked up my roll and threw it at him. It bounced off his shoulder and landed on the floor.

There was a stunned silence.

I began to giggle suddenly. It really was funny, the whole situation. His face, the piece of bread on the floor, and me screaming at him for not eating his potato. My giggle turned into hysterical laughter. I folded my arms on the table and set my head in them, laughing until I felt tears come to my eyes. He did not say anything as I laughed for the longest time, but when I looked up his potato was gone.

----

I could not sleep. It was strange, because lately I had been sleeping like a rock. However, I had spent more than half of the night tossing and turning in my bed, slapping my pillows and adjusting my position to try and sleep. I sighed loudly and slid out of bed. When I padded over to the door I knocked on it softly. Gathering my courage, I gave a faint murmur.

"Erik?"

I really doubted he would hear it. He was downstairs, and I had barely breathed the name. I knocked once again and forced it out a little louder.

"Erik?"

After only a few seconds I heard him walking down the hall.

"Yes, Christine?"

I gave a little sigh of relief. I did not have to be locked in this room all night.

"I can't sleep," I confessed to the door. He asked if I was once again suffering from insomnia, but I said that it was only a one-night stand.

"May I…come out?"

He answered by unlocking the door and opening it wide. I stood like a school-girl, my hands clasped in front and my head slightly bowed. There was an awkward pause. He studied me for a moment before turning smoothly on his heel and walking back towards the door.

"Wait!" I exclaimed suddenly. He turned around to give me a puzzled look as I hurried next to his side.

"Do you…do you mind if I come with you? I don't want to be alone…" I ended with a hard blush, but he simply said that he did not mind the slightest. I followed him downstairs, my bare feet cold from the stone, and suddenly wondered why he was up at this hour, still dressed perfectly, and ready to fly upstairs.

"Don't you sleep?" I asked him. His step didn't falter as he kept walking downstairs quickly.

"Hardly. I have learned to get by without much. Perhaps nine hours a week."

I found that I gasped at this response. I slept nine hours a night!

"Yes, you find it odd, don't you? So do I. Although, I've never been one to question the way my mind and body works. Please, Christine, do not instruct I sleep more. It would only find me awake, tossing and turning…in my coffin."

I was silent and furiously shoved his coffin out of my head. I hated that stupid hunk of wood!

"I am in the library," he commented as we reached the bottom of the stairs. I followed him inside and took my place on the couch as he resumed his position in his large chair, a book spread out in his hands as usual. I brought my legs up to my chest and rested my chin on my knees, watching him without really watching. I wasn't really thinking about anything, letting random, meaningless thoughts float across my consciousness. After about ten minutes in this state I was startled when Erik snapped his book shut.

"Would you like it much if I told you a story?" he asked. My eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise; a story?

"Sure," I answered skeptically. I hoped it wasn't one about rainbows and unicorns and munchkins, though I was foolish to think that Erik would even know such stories. He began. It didn't really amaze me to realize that he was the most fantastic story-teller I had ever heard. He is a perfectionist. If he takes on a new art he practices until it is flawless. But those thoughts were soon lost as I became part of his story. I laughed over the characters' victories and cried with them over their losses. During the course of the incredible tale I had crept off of the couch to be closer to the voice that issued such marvelous sounds and words. I came to a rest next to his feet, looking at him with shameless adoration. Yes, I blush now, but I was completely enraptured. My hand crawled up his leg and rested on his thigh and my head, suddenly heavy with tiredness, fell onto his knee. I smiled sleepily as he ended his story with a flourish.

"It was a happy ending," I murmured, my eyes half-closed.

"It was a happy ending," he repeated softly. My eyes fell completely and my body relaxed as I began to doze. I do not know how long I was slipping in and out of consciousness before he touched me. But I felt something extremely cold settle on my cheek. I did not open my eyes, finding them too heavy and my body too comfortable to unsettle. After a few moments of puzzling I deciphered that it was Erik's hand. It ran down my cheek and onto my jaw, leaving a trail of hot, inflamed flesh after his skin had left. He caressed my chin and slid down to my neck, but he would go no further than my collarbone. I lifted my head suddenly and opened my eyes to look at him. His hand was snatched back quickly.

"Forgive me," he muttered, obviously beyond embarrassed. "That wasn't proper."

I said nothing, but made to put my head back on his knee. However, he moved his leg and gently took my hand off of his thigh.

"It appears you are tired now, my dear," he nudged quietly. "Let us return."

I nodded grudgingly and stood, swaying due to the tiredness that had overcome me. After trudging up a few of the many stairs I let a huge yawn escape my lips. Erik laughed at me. He stopped, turned around, and swept me up. I was too tired to protest; in actuality, I was grateful.

He opened the door to my room. The darkness felt good on my eyes and I smiled slightly as I heard Erik's feet pad across the room. I was exhausted, my body beginning to shut down right in his arms. I was out as soon as my head touched the pillow.

* * *

**Ah, ze fluffiness! You have all been marvelous in your reviews, so I thought it was time to give you squealing phangurls something in return. Plus I was late in updating, even though this was one of the first chapters I wrote for this story. **


	28. Melodie de Paris

**Melodie de Paris**

My small fingers were cool against my neck as I pressed the spot where Erik had touched me only a few nights ago. Now it seemed so long in the past. Time stretched, expanded, and twisted here. From my mouth fluttered a sigh and I gazed into the mirror morosely. The glow from the visit to Lydia had faded and replaced by the usual pale skin. My eyes looked dull, and my hair was rather lank. The sinking, crushing depression has taken its toll. Not that I hadn't been excited a few nights ago. When Erik's cool fingers came to a rest on my skin, I felt a strange, exhilarating thrill, and I felt much more alive than I had been in a long time. Since then we haven't touched at all. Indeed, it is as if he avoids me all together. I sighed again and pulled on some clothes, readying myself for breakfast. No doubt Erik would be waiting, statue-like as ever, and pull out the chair for me, – carefully avoiding my arms and shoulders, of course – sit down, and our long day would begin.

That is what happened. We sat down in a muted attitude and I stared unblinkingly at my eggs Benedict. Erik was also leaving his food untouched. But this was normal for him. Another heaving sigh escaped, and I held my chin in the palm of my hand. Usually Erik would reprimand me for table manners, but he didn't say anything about my elbows.

"Christine."

I turned my gaze turned to him slowly.

"I am going away again."

My elbow slipped and I jerked upright, now focused and alert. "What? How long? When?" A panicky feeling overwhelmed me, and my stomach started clenching.

"I shall be leaving as soon as breakfast is over with for, perhaps, a week."

"A _week_?" I whispered, terrified. A whole week?! He nodded and my mouth went dry. A week of crushing loneliness with nothing to occupy me besides twiddling my thumbs! He said something else – I don't remember – and stood to leave. I doubted that he'd come back to find me completely sane, so I stood up by him quickly and grabbed his hand.

"Take me with you," I said, staring up at him. His eyes were questioning as they stared at our hands. "Erik?" I roused. "Take me with you!"

He gave his head a little shake. "I highly doubt…and I shall be away from the hotel most of the time…"

My grip tightened on his hand, though I doubt it really hurt him all that much, considering how large his hands were and how small mine were.

"I can't be left alone anymore," I whined. "Please, take me!"

His hand drew away from mine. "No. I don't think I shall, Christine. There are too many cons to pros in this situation."

My face hardened. "Do you love me, Erik?" I asked quietly. He fell in the trap easily; so easily I was fairly surprised.

"Yes," he breathed passionately, taking my hands in his, which surprised me, considering how cautious he had been about touching me.

"Then take me with you." An age-old trick. I could see the battle raging on inside his head through his eyes, which were studying me intently. His hands still held mine, though I didn't pull away, using every form necessary to continue to persuade him. Finally he sighed in defeat.

"Hurry," was his invitation. I squealed and hugged him quickly, then darted out the door to pack. Before I completely disappeared, though, I stuck my head back into the dining room.

"Where are we going?"

A small smile teased the corners of his mouth. "Paris."

My grin broke out once again and I practically flew to my room in a state of feverish excitement. My home had always been the United States, so traveling outside the country was thrilling. Erik had not specified how long we were going to be staying, so I simply threw in everything and anything that would fit into my suitcase. It was lucky my bag was situated on wheels; if not, I would not have been able to drag it down the hall where Erik stood waiting for me. He observed my grin and flushed face quietly and, still silently, took my suitcase from me.

"I hope you did not forget your bathroom sink, my dear."

Did I hear something? Were my ears lying? Erik had actually made a light-hearted joke! I wanted to congratulate him, but he had already taken out my blindfold and was gesturing for me to turn around. A few minutes later found us settled in the car comfortably, driving off to some airport who-knows-where. I found that I couldn't sit still; my fingers twisted the folds of my shirt or my feet tapped or I heaved long, dreary sighs. Paris was so exhilarating! I felt like an overexcited child. Memories of enchanted children at Disneyland were immediately placed, and I smiled softly. After watching Erik anxiously read my letter, I had finally sent the first one to Lydia, with Erik supplying the return address separately. She wrote back quickly, claiming to be in perfect health, though much heavier since I had last seen her. When she begged me to come over to Pennsylvania my heart was tugged, and I grudgingly wrote her a reply, which was currently lying, unfinished, on my nightstand at home.

_Home_.

I had just called The House _home_. I lived there, but living in a house does not make it a home. Home is where you feel safe, secure…loved. Is that what I felt at Erik's house? Surely not!

"Christine?"

The quiet word interrupted my thought process before I could continue debating with myself.

"Hmm?"

"Might I be permitted to ask you what you are thinking? You have been dreadfully quiet."

The voice that issued from the other side of the car sounded slightly hesitant…almost timid. Of course I wouldn't tell him what I was really thinking, but I might as well ask him some things that had been lazily wandering around my mind.

"I was just thinking about Paris. What's it like there?"

A small silence followed. "Everything and more."

The silence was then filled by Erik's wonderful voice. He told me about the history of Paris, the city's important figures, its beautiful architecture, everything anyone would possibly want to know about the city of love. Paris's history filled the last moment of the car ride. He seemed to know endless trivia, and any question I had he answered plainly and almost earnestly. I realized it was probably one of the longest and most enthusiastic conversations we had ever had. When the car stopped and we climbed out he took the blindfold off. We were standing in the middle of a long, huge runway that was surrounded by brown fields and barbed wire fence. A small jet towered above us, and while I gaped Erik took my luggage and towed it next to me.

"You have your own _jet_?" I asked in disbelief. He nodded. I knew he was wealthy…just not _this _wealthy. I suddenly felt very small and insignificant, almost _humbled _to think that Erik had picked me out of the teeming masses. Erik took my hand and tugged my statue-like form gently.

"Come along, my darling."

With myself in tow like a stunned child, he pulled me to the jet, where a tall man with very white teeth was waiting for us. He gave a slight bow and began to jabber away to Erik in some bizarre language. Erik responded curtly and almost coldly in the same language. He handed the man my suitcase, said something else, and then drew me up the stairs and into the plane. My cheeks flared when he sat me down into a seat and began to snap the buckle. I pushed his hands away.

"I _can _buckle a seat belt, you know." _Click_. There. I showed him. My cheeks burned brighter as he straightened to full height.

"My apologies. You seemed a little dazed. Excuse me."

He swept out regally and I felt the engine roar to life underneath me. I shivered with excitement as it began its long stretch down the runway. When the plane began to ascend, I had a horrible revelation: I hated flying! My stomach churned, my head spun, and my heart beat quicker than was healthy. There had never been a need to fly, so I had never been on an airplane. To think that I had been excited! In an attempt to calm myself and my stomach, I closed my eyes tightly and leaned against the tiny, cool window. Nothing really changed. I still wanted to vomit, but it did not take much to remain rigid in my seat while the plane ascended to cruising altitude. I looked out the window and shuddered. Heights had never really bothered me, but, then again, I had never reached 40,000 feet. That was the way Erik found me seemingly hours later. Rigid, tight-lipped, and refusing to look anywhere but up.

"I don't like flying," I muttered between clenched teeth.

"Ah." I could swear a small smirk played around his lips. "Then I suppose you will not want your lunch…" I noticed he held a tray in his hands, and I gagged.

"Take it away," I groaned, looking at the ceiling again. He disappeared obediently for a minute and then came back with a glass full of water.

"As we have quite a long ways to go," he said, stepping a bit closer, "I assume you might want to sleep out the remainder of the journey." He held out the glass. Unwillingly, I took another glance out the window. That spurred me quite viciously, and I grabbed the glass, downed the contents, and leaned back to wait for the relief.

I swear I could hear Erik laughing softly as I fell asleep.

---

My eyes didn't want to open. They protested and weighed themselves down, but the rest of my body was slowly becoming aware of everything that was around it. I was lying on an extremely comfortable bed. It smelled slightly like apple blossom and cinnamon. When I finally forced my eyes open I saw that the bed was resting in the middle of a lavish, dimly lit room. Certainly a hotel room, by the looks of it. After some sleepy sighs and stretches, I slunk out of bed, still groggy, and explored. It was as beautiful as my own room back _home_. Another door led to a full, sumptuous bathroom, while yet another door remained locked. I pondered that for a minute, shrugged, gave up and turned to the rest of my hotel room. Thick curtains hid a tall window that overlooked a magnificent city with twinkling lights. It was nighttime. I shivered again and hungrily looked out into Paris. There was no way to describe it. I could pick out famous spots; the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre – all were familiar from pictures, but to see them for real from even a window…it was incredibly breathtaking. Making sure to keep my curtains open, I turned the lamp to a brighter level and noticed a small note on the nightstand.

_Christine,_

_I could not bear to wake you_. _I shall return in two day_'_s time_. _Never fear_; _I shall make sure you enjoy Paris_.

_Until then_,

_Erik_

Next to it was a digital clock. It seemed so strange. I had not seen a clock in ages, and I stared at it until the minute switched. Then I giggled and actually took in the time. 5:38 a.m. I didn't know how long I had slept or what time we had gotten on the plane, but I felt refreshed and ready to start a new day. My suitcase had been unpacked and the clothes currently residing in the highly-polished drawers. The warm water relaxed my excited nerves and mind after I had grabbed some fresh clothes and filled the tub. When I emerged, refreshed and clean, sunlight and crept in and stained the carpets and walls with brilliant light. Paris was waking up. I sang happily as I picked up my scattered clothes and towels on the bathroom floor. When I emerged, I saw a woman smiling cheerfully at me, and the note died on my lips. The blush materialized in my cheeks again.

"Bonjour," she remarked cheerfully, a bright, happy tray of food in her dainty hands. "If I may talk, Madame, that was happy."

I giggled slightly at her choice of words; the woman couldn't have been older than few years older than I. She had thick, shiny dark hair which was pulled back, revealing a round, soft face with dark eyes and a perfect complexion; her skin was a deep, rich color, like the color of butterscotch. Her accent was charming and I liked her instantly. She smiled and laughed with me.

"Apologize me," she continued, setting the tray down onto a small round table that rested across the room. "My English is not very well."

"I don't mind," I assured her. There was a silence as she arranged the small plates into a neat, orderly setting and took a step back respectfully, obviously gesturing what I should do. Finding I was ravenous, I went and examined the food. There was thick, steaming coffee and two richly buttered croissants. The coffee mug was warm in my hand as I took a sip.

"Mmm," I sighed. The woman chuckled.

"_Café au lait_," she supplied. "And I am Aimée."

"Christine," I muttered between bites of the flaky pastry. Aimée smiled again charmingly.

"Monsieur asks me to deliver," she said suddenly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small envelope. I took it from her and opened it to find a small, plastic card shining back at me. I laughed and slid it into my back pocket. _Enjoy Paris_. Well, I certainly would. When I finished my breakfast the woman tidied up but left the dishes on the table.

"Madame, it is Monsieur's wish to me to accompany you with you go to Paris."

Another little giggle escaped. Her vocabulary and accent was so pleasant. I really didn't feel disappointed. I felt better, knowing that I would be going with someone who actually knew the city. After brushing my teeth and grabbing a jacket, just in case, I headed out with Aimée. I was going to talk to people.

----

I knew Erik wouldn't simply let me walk free about Paris. He had taken too many precautions beforehand to contain me, and I knew he wasn't stupid enough to slip right now. So the thought of asking Aimée for help was out of the question. She obviously knew 'Monsieur,' and I knew Erik could make anybody do anything he wanted. One way…or the other…

We started with sight-seeing. Aimée laughed and chatted with me in her broken English. Our conversation was usually wrapped around the people we saw until my companion asked me what I preferred to see first.

"Anything," I responded breathlessly, gazing up at the beautiful buildings. We started for the Louvre. The glass pyramid was exquisite, and after a tour of the museum, we headed for the Carrousel gardens. There was a beautiful sense of quietude, and for once Aimée fell silent, sensing that I wished to be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes. Green grass and beautiful flowers had been a stranger to me for far too long, and I inhaled deeply, breathing in all the rich, earthy smells. Paris awakened the feelings that had long been buried, and I treasured them. Feelings of serenity replaced insecurity. For once, I was unconcerned about everything. Turning to smile at Aimée, I told her I was ready for more.

The day passed by in a blur. Lunch at the Eiffel Tower and an afternoon at the Seine resulted in two exhausted women. Aimée had been an excellent sight-seeing partner. Even though I knew she had seen all of the sights hundreds of times, she acted as though it was her first, and she "oohed" and "aahed" with me.

"Are you coming with me tomorrow?" I asked hopefully as the small cab rounded the corner to what I knew was my hotel. She nodded, a little wearily, and gave me a sleepy smile, and accompanied me to my room. A small silver key was produced and she unlocked my room.

"Good morning, Madame," she yawned. I laughed once more and shut the door.

That night a new feeling bubbled up. It took me a while to actually understand, and then I realized that I was actually excited about getting up the next morning. Sleep couldn't come fast enough, and I smiled while I fell asleep.

---

Aimée was her usual, bright, excited self the next morning. Sleep had given both of us a beautiful recovery from the exhaustion that had overwhelmed us the night before. I ate quickly and soon we were out the door. Today we were going to finish seeing the beautiful sights Paris offered. We saw Notre Dame and the Sacre Coeur, the Arc de Triomphe and the Moulin Rouge. That night I slept rock-like and peacefully, excited for the next day once again. Paris was working its magic charms. The last day before Erik would return, Aimée and I went shopping. I suddenly felt like a teenage girl again and pulled Aimée from shop to shop, debating whether this skirt made my butt look big, if these jeans made my thighs too short, whether this top was too expensive. Soon we were both laden down with bags. A beautiful, cozy little sidewalk restaurant caught my eye and I made my way towards it, eager for a late lunch. But by early evening I had to admit I was slowing down, too. Aimée had held out, more to please me, I think, and I said a quiet thank you to her as we exited our last shop. A comfortable silence sang as we waited for our dinner, the bags sitting around our feet. I grinned to think of what Erik would do when I showed him all my purchases. Maybe I would earn another laugh, or perhaps I would have to be content with his small, cocky smile. Either way, I hoped I could cheer him up. Suddenly I was insatiably curious to know how much Aimée knew about Erik. I glanced at her; she was studying the menu, even though we had already placed our orders.

"So," I said lightly, pressing another fold in the napkin on my lap while she looked up with a smile. "How did you end up being my babysitter?"

Perhaps a little too blunt and harsh. She frowned a bit.

"I…do not understand," she confessed. "Babysitter?"

"I mean, how did you end up…here?"

She gave a nonchalant shrug. "It is my job, but I am glad that it is." Another grin graced her pretty mouth.

"And you applied for this job?" A small, bitter smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. _Easy, Christine_. _Try not to overreact_.

"Mon père…" She struggled for the right words. "My…the man who…"

"Your husband?" I guessed. The sickening thought filled my stomach, and I do not have the courage to write it on paper. Guess for yourself, dear journal, what I thought.

She shook her head. A wave of relief overtook me. I tried again.

"Your father?"

Her eyes lit up. "Oui, oui. My father. He works with Monsieur."

"Monsieur?" I questioned, trying to keep it light and casual, as if I really didn't care.

"My father's business friend."

"And you only know him as 'Monsieur'?"

"Oui," she confirmed, smiling as the waiter brought our dishes. "Why are you troubled now?"

I shrugged to match hers and looked down at the plate. Suddenly I wasn't very hungry. Aimée ate with zest and finished quickly but noticed that I was gloomy. To try and stem her upcoming flow of questions, I asked her to teach me to say my name in French. She immediately brightened and forgot my troubles. The small lesson occupied the cab ride home and up to my hotel room.

"Merci," I said softly, smiling. She grinned back at me and pressed my hand warmly.

"I had a fun with you," she smiled. My own smile faltered a bit.

"You mean…you're leaving?" My voice was much too hoarse.

She gave an apologetic smile. "I go for Lille tomorrow. Thank you for English lessons."

My eyes filled with horrified tears. Aimée looked faintly shocked.

"I – " she began, but I cut her off.

"Thank you for showing me Paris," I said coldly, picking up my bags. I walked into the room and faced her. "I had fun." The door swung shut silently on her confused, pretty features. What did it matter that I offended her? I would never see her again. She had simply passed through my life, like so many people. No one is really consistent when it comes to life. Everyone dies eventually, so, logically, everyone simply flits by your eyes, perhaps touching you in a few sentimental ways, until they are forever lost from your eyesight. Good-byes were now one of my worst fears. I put away my new clothes, furious, and brushed my thick hair with unnatural force, grimacing even more angrily as it tugged my scalp. While I was brooding into the mirror a small noise shook me. It came from behind the mysterious locked door. And I had a sneaking suspicion of who was behind that door…

Without giving another thought I rose, crossed the room, and turned the knob. Of course it was unlocked. It was another hotel room, though this one was a darker shade than mine. The wood was also a deeper color. A baby grand piano occupied an adjoining room; I could see it through the open door. Another rustling sound came from around the corner, and I peeked to find Erik, removing his jacket. Surprisingly, I felt a wave of excited relief and bounded out to hug him tightly. I felt him stiffen in surprise and smiled, though the small feelings of betrayal still hadn't left.

"I trust you had a good time," he said warmly. I nodded into his chest, breathing in the smell. It was musty and reminded me a bit of the earthy smell of the Carrousel gardens. I suddenly realized how forward I was being and took a sharp step back, allowing him to fully remove his jacket.

"Where did you go?" I asked politely, watching him throw his article of clothing carelessly over a small desk. He glanced at me and made his way to the piano, bidding me to follow.

"Never you mind," he said lightly, flipping up the lid and suddenly running his fingers up and down the keys expertly. "Now, Christine, we must keep your voice in good condition. A few scales before bed?"

I nodded eagerly and was later surprised at how flat my voice had become. It had only been…what, three days since I had sung last? Erik tuned me like a violin, perfecting quickly, and much too soon dismissed me for bed. I left him poring over some new composition and quickly finished readying for bed. I laid there for a while, trying to get to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come. Perhaps my frustration had "blessed" me with another bout of insomnia. I got up and began to pace distractedly, not really thinking, not really not thinking. The door passed my line of sight a few times before I decided that I might as well say goodnight to Erik and ask him what I was doing tomorrow. The door swung open as quietly as ever and I tiptoed in, my bare feet buried in the thick, lovely carpet.

Erik was at his desk, though I stopped short when I saw him. His mask was lying by his hand and he was staring at the wall, apparently daydreaming. I could see half of his face! Fear spread through me icily; fear of his reaction. My breath immediately stayed, and my feet took a few hasty steps back. Too late – of course.

"Christine!" It wasn't said angrily, thank goodness. He was alarmed and surprised and, before I could follow them, his hands were tying the mask securely back into place.

"I'm sorry," I trembled. "I just came in…to say goodnight." My hand was already on the doorknob, ready to flee to my room should the need arise. But Erik looked…pleading. He took a few steps forward, and I noticed that again he was only wearing a thin shirt. I blushed slightly, thankful for the dimness of the room.

"Please. Don't apologize." There was something new in his voice, something that I had never heard. He sounded ashamed, almost to the point of disgust. Then I realized why as he went on. "It isn't your fault that you are forced to live with this face. It is mine, and I am sorry. Truly."

He turned away from me while I reeled slightly. What was he talking about? Perhaps Erik shouldn't be left to brood…But he said he was _sorry _that he had forced me to live with him. _Sorry_. So why was I still here?

"Please," he begged again. "Go back to bed, Christine."

I obeyed him quietly, still musing. No solution came as I crawled into light, no epiphany burst as I snuggled under the downy coverlet. I frowned; not in reaction to his face, but in his reaction to it.


	29. What You do to Me

**To clear the confuzzledness: Erik is **_**not **_**Aimée****'s husband or father. **

* * *

**What You do to Me**

I woke glumly. Last night had been…strange, to say the least, and my little spat with Aimée, but still – what did it matter? Like I said, I would never see her. Anyways, I digress. Paris had lost a little of its beauty. It seemed smoggy and busy, nothing like the exotic, beautiful place that had enchanted me only twenty-four hours ago. Another girl brought me my breakfast this morning. She was rather large and looked very dim. When I asked her what type of coffee I had this morning, she simply shrugged to say that she did not speak any English. With that she left. I ate gloomily and decided that sooner or later I would have to face Erik. Being cooped up in my hotel room all day did not sound too exciting. He was buttoning his jacket again (why did I always find him doing something with his jacket, and never anything with his shirt? I blush).

"Hello," I said tentatively, testing his mood this morning. He seemed perfectly cheerful – well, as happy as he could be, anyways.

"Good morning, my dear," he tugged on his jacket to straighten out the small wrinkles.

"What are you doing today?" Predictably:

"I shall be out most of the day."

My shoulders slumped. Erik noticed and said, "I told you to remain home. I told you I would have quite a few…meetings."

"No," I responded quickly, "I don't regret coming. But what am I supposed to do today now that you've sent Aimée away?"

"Aimée?" he mused suddenly, frowning a bit. "Ah. Yes, I remember now." But he would say no more and strode over to the piano. Music had already begun to litter the floor and top. Erik was almost sloppy when it came to placing his music, but he always seemed to be able to find exactly what he was searching for. After a second of rummaging, he pulled out a thin booklet and handed it to me. _Classical Piano Music for Beginners_.

"I expect at least one piece perfected by the time I return."

I glanced at him, half-grinning and half-frowning. A piece perfected by tonight. Yeah, right. But it gave me something to do.

"Until tonight," he said softly, once again reaching up to touch my face, but stopping halfway. With that he turned on his heel and walked out the door. Sighing, I plopped down onto the piano bench and thumbed through the pieces. My fingers rested unsteadily on the keys after I finally decided on a Minuet by Bach. I played the first note hesitantly. It had been years since I had dared to attempt playing again. I picked my way through the right hand precariously, intent on getting the notes right before I tried rhythm. The door flew open suddenly, and Erik walked in. I jumped and removed my hand from the piano instantly. He simply swept past me and into the room with his bed. Another man followed him. The man entered leisurely, stopped, and then stared at me. Stared unashamedly. I blushed deeply and looked down at the keys. When I glanced up he was still staring. The man was tall, though not nearly as tall as Erik, with darker skin like Aimée's. He had thick, ebony hair that shined brilliantly. But the thing that jarred me most was his eyes. They were the prettiest shade of green I had ever seen. Not just the color, though. The shape and set of them were extraordinary. I realized that this was more likely than not Aimée's father; Erik's business partner. Before I could debate thoroughly whether or not to talk to him, Erik returned, clasping a thick leather folder in his large hands.

"Forgive us, my dear." He finally acknowledged me. "I merely forgot the plans." Before he left he stopped by the bench and bent down slightly, his hand coming to a rest on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. "F sharp."

I glanced at the music once more to notice that I had, indeed, forgotten that single sharp. After satisfied that I understood, Erik stood straight and swept out of the room in his usual elegant style. The man, whom I took to be Aimée's father, bowed slightly to me before following his companion. I was left alone the rest of the day.

---

Erik returned, alone, around five or six. I followed him around like a dog while he put his thick leather folder on his desk and took off his jacket with a sigh. After giving me a rather tired half-smile, he motioned towards the piano and led the way. I blushed slightly. My rhythm and melody weren't as sure as they could and should have been, but I sat down anyways on the piano bench. Erik took the armchair a few feet away and leaned back, closing his eyes. He gave an elegant wave with his hand to motion for me to begin. As I played, I kept throwing anxious glances at him. I stumbled quite a bit and didn't hold my quarter notes long enough, so my melody became confused. When I finished his face was impassive.

"I know," I sighed. "It was horrible."

His eyes opened and his usual half-smile came into play. It startled me when he stood suddenly.

"Shall I show you how it is supposed to be played?"

I grudgingly scooted over on the bench. No doubt he would make my playing seem as if it were played by a four year-old. And he did. The music was the simplest, easiest piece I could find and it was only one page long, but Erik played the piece so wonderfully that I felt something prick my heart. He stopped abruptly and looked down at me.

"Then it can be evolved into something like this." From the piano came even more wonderful, beautiful sounds. His fingers flew and his head was bent in concentration. But he looked at me again, his half-smile there, never missing a beat.

"You don't have to rub it in," I giggled. The sounds stopped abruptly and the sudden silence startled me. Erik stood quickly and disappeared into his bedroom. After he called me to follow I found him with a bag on his bed, one long hand reaching in.

"I bought you something." He said this almost shyly, and I hovered excitedly, watching him pull out some dark material. A squeal escaped me. It was a beautiful dress, some kind of satin black, with a square, low neckline and a lower one in back. Now that I think back on it, it was rather risqué in my opinion, but I was dazzled. A small shining brooch held a silky belt right below the flush of the dress. To complete the picture, he produced a thick necklace and tear-drop earrings.

"Erik," I breathed, taking the jewelry reverently and touching it carefully. "It's beautiful!"

"I was hoping…you might wear them to dinner…with me. Tonight." Being too dazed to really take in his nervousness at the moment, I simply nodded air-headedly.

"Yes. Yes…I'll come to dinner."

Later I remembered a sigh of relief.

A few hours later I had my hair in place, the jewelry on, and the dress was nearly complete. I couldn't reach the back to finish fastening it up. Small, frustrated grunts came from my mouth as I strained my arms to try and reach. Four small, simple clasps! I gave an exasperated sigh and finally gave up, walked over to the door, and opened it slowly.

"Erik?"

He walked over from the window and stopped short when he saw me. It made me blush like a schoolgirl.

"Er…I can't seem to get the back fastened. Short arms and all." I giggled in a high-pitched voice and blushed harder. "Would you mind?"

"Certainly." I noticed that his voice sounded rather strained, too. Turning around, I waited patiently to feel his cool, slender fingers. But they never came. He had stopped still right behind me.

"Erik?" I gently prodded.

He gave a small, shuddering sigh. "This might have been a mistake. Please return to your room, Christine."

"What? Why?"

"Please, I do not wish to explain myself. Just do as you're told."

Frowning, I turned to face him. "I want an explanation. You went to all this trouble, and so did I, so why are you suddenly getting cold feet?"

"It is nothing."

"Obviously it's something! Tell me!" I took a step closer, but he stepped back abruptly, seemingly warding me off like some sort of plague. My small hurt must have shown in my face, because he gave an irritated sigh.

"You think just because I look like a monster I do not have feelings like a man! That I…do not fantasize about you, your soft skin, and – " He cut himself off, and I could see a blush rising from his chin to his forehead. I was silent. Another irritated sigh interrupted the silence, and his cold hands were on my arms. He steered me towards my room.

"Good night, Christine," he finalized. His voice was now normal and cool, his usual tone. I sat behind the door, slightly disappointed. For a split-second I had broken down that impenetrable wall that shielded him from the rest of humanity. I had revealed his true feelings (even if I really didn't like some of them), and as soon as he confessed he righted himself. He seemed to think it was weak to tell me what he truly thought or felt. I nibbled on my lip as I changed into my nightgown and set the clothes into my drawer carefully. Maybe I would have another chance to wear them while I was still in Paris.

The sounds of a piano being played drifted under the door that separated our rooms. It was a beautiful, sorrowful melody. But when Erik's voice joined with the instrument, I froze. His voice was so…_sad_. A silly term to use, but it was what his voice was. I wanted to comfort that Voice, to kiss away the tears, which were pricking at my own eyes. That Music, that Voice…they were calling to me. I rose from the vanity slowly and eyed the door without any apprehension. I was confident. The Voice and Music wanted me, and who was I, weak mortal, to resist? The Music was crying, and the Voice was in need of comfort. If it was in my power to heal them, then why shouldn't I? Perhaps if I comforted the two they would be something happier. So I went to the Music and the Voice. Through the door and around the corner. My hand came to a rest on the music- and voice- maker, who seemed to relax and stiffen at the same time.

I was vaguely aware of my name being said softly, but I paid no heed. All that was on my mind was solace; the Voice and Music needed comforting. I sat down on the bench and saw where the Voice was coming from. I stared at that spring of sorrow. The desire to taste the Music and the Voice was overwhelming. Perhaps if I tasted it I would understand what was causing it pain and could help. I could be of some comfort. My face tilted up and leaned forward.

Here is where I shall stop describing my delusions. I was completely lost under Erik's spell of music and his voice. That was the state of mind in which I thought. My thoughts were crazy, irrational, and I leaned towards Erik with every thought of healing something. Erik looked at me with surprise, I'm sure, but he kept singing, keeping me under his delicious enchantment. Our faces were close, as close as they had ever been willingly. His thin lips kept moving to form the words of the song. He made no resistance, no sign that he did not want to be kissed, so I continued to lean in. I remember our lips touching barely. His were brushing over mine, forming the consonants and vowels. My eyes were drooping, completely lost in the passion of the moment. I closed them when I felt his last note die. I was healing the Voice and the Music…

Suddenly a cold hand was roughly placed on my shoulder and shoved me backwards. I slid off the bench, my eyes wide with shock. Erik sprang from the piano bench with the agility of a cat and he stalked towards the window, tense and almost anxious. All I could do was sit in a sort of stupor, unbelieving that he had just done that. Seconds trickled by.

"Kindly collect yourself off of my floor and go back to bed."

The words stung. Moisture suddenly collected in my eyes and I blinked back hot tears. I had cried because of Erik before, but that was because he had always frightened me. This was the feeling of hated rejection. He hadn't wanted to kiss me…and just hours before he had been claiming fantasies about me. What a miserable lie!

I clamored to my feet, wounded and sniffling, and padded back to my room. Erik remained immobile by the window, giving no acknowledgment to my hurt state. The bed enclosed me in its warm, comforting embrace, and I cried into it. I'm unaware how long I cried before the door opened once again and Erik entered. He looked at me for a minute, though this time I did not wish him to go. I wanted to be held, comforted like a child. When he came to sit on the bed stiffly I sat up and cried against him, soaking his collar and shoulder. Awkwardly, he patted my back and stroked my hair, clearly at a loss of what to do. Eventually I cried myself to sleep and woke stuffy, hot, and uncomfortable. Erik had left, predictably, and I blushed when the memories of last night swept around me. After I showered and changed I knocked on the door that separated mine and Erik's room. The door was silent as I opened it cautiously. Erik was sitting at the small desk, frowning over some sketches. He gave no sign that he heard me when I stopped a few feet away from him, nervously shifting my weight. I cleared my throat and clumsily began, rather annoyed he wasn't looking at me.

"Erik. About – about last night. I – "

He finally looked at me and held his hand up to silence me. "There is no need to discuss…_it_. Last night was strange for both of us, and it was wrong of me to have done that to you."

I had to agree with that. "What were you singing?"

"_Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schon,_" he replied.

"Oh." Another silence followed. "When are we going home?"

"You wish to leave?"

Paris had been lovely, but I was ready to leave. I was homesick. Then I was sick. Again! I had just referred to Erik's house as home. And I missed it! I knew that feeling well; I missed Mama, I missed Lydia, I missed Raoul…

I missed home!

A nod later and Erik instructed me to pack my things. My suitcase was heavier now, thanks to all the clothes I had bought. When we were situated comfortably in the car, Erik allowed me a rare treat; he let me keep the blindfold off until we were out of the city. I devoured my last few sights of Paris. The crowded streets, the sidewalk cafes, the beautiful architecture, the beautiful language…

"Erik," I suddenly said, turning to face him. "I never heard you speak any French. Would you say something now?"

He looked out of the opposite window. I heard him sigh before he said softly, "_Vous êtes ma joie, ma douleur, et mon cœur_."

Beautiful. "What did you say?"

He looked at me now. "I simply said 'We shall continue working on _Faust _when we return.' "

"Oh." I had no reason to question what he said. After all, I didn't know the language. No matter how many operas I had memorized in French, I only knew the librettos. I couldn't ever be able to speak the language to save my life. The plane scared me out of my wits. My hands were an unflattering pink by the time I sat down. However, I was soon enveloped by Erik's warm, blissful darkness.

----

Mixed emotions were mine when I woke up. I was back in my room. Was I glad to be _home_? If this was home, it truly was a strange one. Most of the memories this house contains aren't pleasant, and yet there are some rather tender and touching moments that couldn't have happened anywhere else. But those moments. Do they signify anything…greater than what I'm admitting to feel? And do I want these feelings at all? Questions! Never ending questions! Why can I not simply put forth what I think and feel? Why is it so hard for me? I groaned into the pillow and sat up, rubbing my aching temples, feeling the questions bounce around. Would these questions even be answered?

Some of them have been. Paris had woken up the dormant feelings of strong affection that had been buried since my kidnapping. So I will admit that I feel something for Erik. Something. Strong affection. Not love – not yet, anyways. I have a terrible dread that if things continue down this path I shall be romantically and hopelessly in love with Erik.

* * *

_**Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schon**_

From _The Magic Flute_

_Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd Schön,_

_Wie noch kein Auge je gesehn!_

_Ich fuhl es, wie dies Gotterbild_

_Mein Herz mit neuer Regung fullt._

_Dies Etwas kann ich zwar nicht nennen,_

_Doch fuhl ich's hier wie Feur brennen._

_Soll die Empfindung Liebe sein?_

_Ja, ja, Die Liebe ist's allein!_

_O wenn ich sie nur finden konnte!_

_O wenn sie doch schon vor mir stande!_

_Ich wurde - wurde - warm und rein -_

_Was wurde ich? -_

_Ich wurde sie voll Entzucken_

_An diesen heiben Busen drucken,_

_Und ewig ware sie dann mein._

_**Translation:**_

_This portrait is enchantingly beautiful,_

_Such as no eye has ever seen._

_I feel the way this divine image_

_Fills my heart with new emotion._

_Though I cannot name what this is,_

_I feel it burning here like fire._

_Might this sensation be love?_

_Yes, yes, it can only be love!_

_Oh, if only I could find her!_

_Oh, if she but stood before me now!_

_I should... should... warmly and virtuously..._

_What should I do?..._

_Rapturously I should_

_Press her to this ardent breast,_

_And then she would be mine forever._

**You are my joy, my pain, and my heart.**


	30. Shaping Years

**Shaping Years**

I knew the peace that I had enjoyed with Erik could not last long. There was too much bitterness in our situation; we had hurt each other too many times. It was a rather sad outlook, but it was true. At least I did not entertain false hopes of a happy, long life together. My stomach clenches at the thought. Together. A life – together. If that is our fate, will I survive? Literally! If Erik does not kill me for my stupidity, I might simply die of despair. It sounds horribly corny, but I felt it creeping upon me; a spider I am unable to brush away. Music no longer was able to distract me fully. I had progressed so much that our practice sessions were cut down to about an hour each day. He sensed my restlessness, though, thankfully.

"Christine, would you enjoy going out once again?" he asked me over dinner. I nodded eagerly, immediately losing my appetite in my excitement. But he frowned slightly and poked his plate a few times. I knew what he was thinking about.

"I won't run, I promise!" I said eagerly, grabbing his sleeve. "I promise I'll stay right by your side! Please, I want to go out!"

He glanced at my hand and then at my face, his dark eyes blank. "Finish your dinner."

A smile crept onto my lips. "Only if you finish yours."

----

The scent of pine was familiar as we stepped out of the car. Memories of our last experience here made me slightly squeamish. The rush of adrenaline, the fear, the anger, the disappointment. I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the sinking sun caress my face tenderly. The ground crunched cheerily as we made our way towards the fading red light. To my complete amazement, I felt no itching in my feet, no rushing in my head to bolt. I simply felt…content. Content to stand there and smell and see and hear and feel. I sighed softly, almost lovingly.

"Thank you."

He did not respond and kept plunging in deeper. Curious to see what he had to show me, I followed him quickly. When he was silent and walked like that he usually had a surprise. We pushed our way through the thick underbrush for five more minutes before Erik stopped suddenly, and I settled myself beside him to look at a small, beautiful meadow. An excited gasp came from me, and my legs suddenly had a mind of their own. I was running, feeling the cool wind against my face, my arms flung out like wings, and my eyes closed.

But I was not running away. I was simply running. The ground was rough and uneven, and I tripped and fell quite a few times, landing in the tall brown grass, but I always pushed myself up again. When I had exhausted myself I ran to the center and sat down in the middle, looked at Erik, and began to laugh. Even through the fading light I could see that his expression was one of wild amazement. I closed my eyes and blushed slightly. But it did feel extremely healthy and refreshing to run again, to feel my heart pound in my chest, to have my legs beat upon hard ground. He was standing right above me when I opened my eyes, and I jumped slightly. When he continued to stand I patted the ground beside me, indicating him to sit. His eyes flickered there and to my face.

"No. Thank you."

I shrugged. "Suit yourself." To entertain myself I pulled a handful of dry grass up by the roots and began to weave them together.

"Might I ask what in the world are you doing?"

"Making a crown, of course!" I responded cheerfully, poking a rather stubborn blade through a narrow hole. I felt his eyebrow rise on me; he had an annoying tendency to do that when he was amused and shocked. My crown formed in a comfortable silence, and when it was done I placed it on my head, smiling up at him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably and looked away. My lips pulled downwards and I rested my chin on my knees, staring at the waving grass. He never seemed to approve of anything I did. He was always frowning at something that was wrong with me, questioning every single one of my actions. It hurt. But was I seeking his approval? I suppose so. I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to see him smile and give his beautiful laugh. But why?

The world came into focus as I slid back into the present and I realized that I had been staring at him. He looked down at me.

"Is there something wrong? Are you cold?"

I quickly shook my head and looked forward, feeling my face grow warm. My heart pounded violently as I felt him shift beside me. What was wrong with me? Perhaps the fresh air had gone to my head. The hopefulness and happiness of outside was completely rearranging my senses.

_Get a grip on yourself, Christine! Stop thinking like this!_

I moaned and put my head between my hands. Erik quickly knelt down beside me.

"What is it?" he asked urgently.

"I want to leave," I said stiffly, careful not to say _home_. I did not want to love Erik. I should not love Erik! It came back to my old argument. Why can't I simply make up my mind? Why can I not decide on something? Instead I run back and forth, sticking my toe in the water but never diving.

Something cold touched my forehead and I jerked out of surprise. It was Erik's hand, obviously checking for a fever or some illness. After telling me that it was his fault we were out in the cold he tried to pick me up, but that would have probably only inflamed my feelings, so I wriggled out of his grasp and began to walk back towards the car. The sheer confusion I felt caused tears to prick at the corners of my eyes. I hated myself right then. I hated my questions, I hated my feelings, I hated crying, I hated my situation, and I hated second-guessing myself all the time. The car couldn't come into view fast enough, and I was soon running, feeling bushes snag at my clothes and skin, stumbling on roots and rocks, and tears finally falling. The one thing I wanted most in the world was someone I could confide in. Someone I could spill all my feelings into and be comforted and given advice. But I couldn't have that. Even Erik could not give me that.

He was right on my heels when I reached the car. I slid in quickly, avoiding Erik's hand to give me assistance, and curled in the corner the whole drive back. Predictably, he waited until we arrived home to question me.

"Nothing's wrong," I insisted, pushing his hand away. "I'm fine."

"This is rather irritating. You are crying and say everything is all right. Clearly something is wrong. Now tell me."

His tone was cold and impersonal, and my temper flared. He didn't care! All of his professions of love and devotion were cruel lies!

"You think I'm simply going to tell you all my secrets? Do you honestly think that I'll just tell you everything when you talk to me like that? Like some idiotic child instead of an adult! Raoul never –"

I quickly broke off with a small gasp and covered my mouth. My foolish tongue had just said the worst thing it could have said. _Why_ had I said that? _Why_? I felt Erik smolder and waited for the explosion.

"Ah. Dearest _Raoul_. Raoul would never treat you like this, would he? He would pet you and tuck you in, kiss your forehead and tell you everything would be fine!"

When I look back on the argument, I should have stopped him before he went any further. But I was speechless, utterly fearful, and I trembled. He grabbed my wrists and tugged me closer.

"Please – !" was all that came out of my imprudent lips.

"But perhaps that is what you want!" he leered, his yellow eyes ablaze with breathtaking anger. "Would you like Raoul?" He waited for an answer, which I did not give.

"_Would you_?" he snarled, shaking me roughly. The crown of grass, which I had not realized was still on, fell to the ground at our feet. My mouth would not move, and the longer I held the silence, the tighter his grip on my wrists became. The pain became so unbearable that I shook my head slightly simply to try and placate him.

"What did I tell you about lies?" he breathed menacingly. "Answer me truthfully this time, Christine! Would you like Raoul?"

"Yes," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut so I would not have to see his scorching eyes. "Please, you're hurting me…"

"It appears so, darling! For that is what Erik does, isn't it? All he does is hurt you! Physically, emotionally, mentally…He can never do anything right!"

However angry and frustrated he sounded, a tinge of despair and hopelessness hinted at his words. Without warning I was being dragged to my room, and I immediately began to struggle.

"No, p – please! Erik, please! I'm sorry!"

My stomach began to heave and the tears flowed faster. He opened the door with a bang and placed me in the middle of the room. I trembled pitifully, trying to control my stomach. He stomped over to my wardrobe, violently ripped out a nightgown, and flung it at me.

"Put it on, my dear," he hissed. I started having trouble breathing as I bent down to pick up the article of clothing. I spent as long as I could changing in the bathroom, but eventually Erik knocked on the door and asked if I needed assistance, for no one would take that long to put on a nightgown. I came out slowly and red-faced, protectively hugging myself and wishing I was somewhere – anywhere – else in the world. Erik grabbed my forearm and pulled me to the overstuffed armchair that was in the corner. After situating me on his lap, he began to run his fingers through my hair.

"You're trembling," he said in mock concern, pulling me closer. I curled up tighter, soaking the front of his shirt. After fifteen excruciating, painfully anxious minutes of this he picked me up and carried me to the bed. My head began to swirl and a confused garble of incoherent pleas came out. I thank God every day that he simply set me on the bed and pulled the blankets up to my chin.

"Good-night, Christine," he said pleasantly, tucking the blankets around my shoulders. However, he bent down and placed a cold, stony kiss on my forehead. I choked and threw the blankets over my head in a hope of it being some kind of defense. A chilling chuckle came from above, and he tugged the blanket down.

"Everything will be fine. Now sleep, darling."

The door slamming made me start and I crawled out of bed, raced to the toilet and retched. Feeling an empty sense of relief, I sighed and curled up on the cold bathroom floor, laying my cheek against the chilling marble. I cried for a while longer and eventually fell asleep.

Nightmares woke me several times. The floor was uncomfortable, but I did not want to go back to my bed. It seemed to be some sort of dark omen and I feared it more than Erik's anger. Nothing could persuade me from leaving the bathroom that day. My stomach growled ferociously and I knew Erik would be positively lethal that I missed lessons, but I was still terrified of what he might do. Instead I waited, paced, sat, paced, and waited all day, every minute expecting to hear Erik's heavy footsteps coming down the hall, expecting the doorknob to turn slowly.

Why had I said Raoul's name? Why in the world had I been stupid enough to even think his name? Erik had frightened and angered me so greatly, I suppose I had wanted to make some kind of example for him to follow, and Raoul was the first one that came to mind…I wanted him to _follow _the example, not _be _the example.

Finally, when my mind and stomach couldn't handle it anymore, I made my way out of the bathroom and ate my food hurriedly, trying to decide if I dared to face Erik again. I knew it was inevitable, but I wanted to postpone it for as long as possible and try to build up some type of courage and defiance. It would shrivel as soon as he grew angry, but I wanted to at the very least try. My breathing was twice as loud and fast as I made my way downstairs. The shirt I was wearing received some very lovely wrinkles; I was twisting the fabric to its limit out of anxiousness. The bottom of the stairs came all too quickly, and I clutched the banister for support and mustered my courage. A loud, booming knock echoed around the circular room, and I shuddered. Erik did not answer. I knocked once again and was greeted by more silence. Deciding he had to be in the library, I turned around and knocked a few times.

"Erik?" I called cautiously. No answer. The door was unlocked, and I pushed on it slightly, shivering as the cold dumped itself onto me. There was an odd sense of foreboding, and I finally figured out why as soon as my eyes adjusted to the gloom.

Erik was laying on the ground, dead.


	31. Selfish

**Selfish**

"Erik!"

The shrill word reverberated around the room and echoed in my own head. The air disappeared from my lungs and I felt like I was falling through cold, inky blackness. I shook madly.

"Please, dear God, no Erik, please…"

My knees met with the floor beside him, and my hands stretched out to tilt his head back to clear his airway. I took his wrist in my hand and a century was crammed into a few seconds as I waited. A shriek nearly escaped as I felt a slight beat. He was alive! I put my hand next to his mouth, hoping against hope to feel a warm breath touch my skin, but his chest was still. My head spun slightly. Now was the part where I would give mouth-to-mouth breathing, but it is perfectly understandable why I hesitated slightly. Besides, how could I cover his nose? The minute trickled by, and I knew that it was a critical decision. No matter how much I didn't want to, I understood that if I didn't he would most likely die and I would have his death on my hands.

"Please give me strength," I murmured, reaching up to remove his mask. I had to close my eyes and take a few deep breaths before I was able to take any more action. First I found his handkerchief and pressed it over his "nose" to block off the air. My mouth was dry, and I swallowed a few times before finally enclosing my mouth over his. I tried not to rush the breathing, but I couldn't stop myself from hurrying. It was simply too odd to be giving Erik mouth-to-mouth. His chest was still immobile. After giving two more quick breaths I felt a wave of wonderful relief – yes, _relief_ – wash over me. I heard a faint wheeze come from him and he began to heave, as if trying to vomit but nothing would come out. After at least a minute of this he rolled over on his side and coughed loudly.

"Erik?" I whispered. He groaned and rolled onto his back once more. I felt so utterly helpless, unable to give him any relief. Then I remembered the threat of broken bones, and for the next minute or so I carefully pressed around for anything out of place. After double and triple-checking his body I noticed his lips were rather bluish in color. Mistaking it as a result of the cold temperature of the room, I frantically thought of a warmer place to put him. Once again he was only wearing a thin white shirt. Upstairs was warmest, but there was no way that I could drag him up the stairs all by myself. And as if in an answer to my silent, unsaid prayer, I felt someone behind me, and I turned sharply to see Madame standing on the threshold, looking ridiculously calm and observing me as if it was the most uneventful scene she had ever come across.

"Good," was the first word that came out of her mouth. "How is he doing?"

"I – uh, he's cold." I threw another glance at his bluish lips.

"No, he is not. It is drafty down here, but his lips are not blue because of the temperature. We should get him somewhere comfortable, however."

She said this all as if merely commenting that my shirt was white. After a small sigh, she began to give out instructions, telling me exactly how to hold his legs. Madame took over his upper torso, for which I was grateful. I didn't think I would be able to have his head resting on my chest. The stairs were endless and I began to pant shortly after ascending them.

"It is a good thing you found him when you did," Madame was saying matter-of-factly, practically pulling me along with Erik. "I did not notice that his supply was nearly half-empty until about ten minutes ago."

"Supply?" I could not help but notice that Erik's skin was very clammy. Madame looked at me in slight surprise.

"Why, his morphine supply."

"W – what?" I spluttered, so shocked that I dropped his legs.

"Careful!" she cried, forced to hold tighter so Erik didn't topple down the stairs. I quickly resumed my position and we moved steadily upwards. I didn't want to waste my breath, but my head was becoming rather jammed with questions.

Morphine?

Suddenly, my mouth went quite dry. Erik had overdosed on morphine as a result of our argument last night. He had nearly killed himself! And it had been my fault. If I hadn't said Raoul's name Erik would not be half-dead in my arms. We eventually made it to my bedroom and set Erik down on the bed gently. Madame left quickly for a few minutes and then returned with a large needle filled with some kind of liquid.

"Naloxone," she explained, answering my puzzled expression. "Medicine." She walked over to the bed and pushed Erik's sleeve up to his shoulder. I gasped loudly.

"Excuse me," she said softly, quickly pulling the sleeve back down. "Wrong arm."

In the crook of his right arm was a mass of blue, angry veins that were swollen and looked quite tender. That was his injection site, and I closed my eyes, trying to block out the blue against the bone-white arm. Madame quickly injected the naloxone and addressed me curtly.

"You checked for broken bones, I assume?" I nodded. "Good. Alert me at once if his vitals change in any way." The door slammed shut before I could open my mouth. First, how was I supposed to 'alert' her? And I had no idea what Erik's vitals were. He jerked his head suddenly, and I waited with breathless anticipation for him to regain consciousness, which didn't happen. To try and eat up some time I pulled the heavy armchair by the bed and sat down to catch my breath. Only then did I realize that his mask was lying in the library, and I gulped slightly. To go down there by myself was like asking a five year-old to go down into the dark basement alone.

Erik's lips still held a bluish tint to them, and I saw that he was having a little trouble breathing steadily. When I touched his hand I noted it was still clammy, and that it was much colder than usual. My eyes were drawn to the crook of his right arm and I pushed his sleeve up a bit higher.

He didn't stir. I touched the veins lightly and shuddered, feeling the unevenness against my fingertip. Erik did not open his eyes once for quite a long time, which gave me a while to think. The injection site did not happen overnight. Therefore, Erik had been using morphine for quite a while, possibly even before I showed up in his life. But I couldn't be certain of anything until he woke up and asked him myself.

On the other hand, he didn't seem to want to wake. I paced and sat and waited impatiently, drumming my fingers. He slept on, unmoving, with no sign of alteration in his breathing pattern, which was still slow and rather clumsy. Against my will, I began to become drowsy and curled up in my chair, fighting my eyelids to remain open, but they were weighed down. I quickly fell asleep.

----

My eyes opened with a snap. I had just been woken by a chilling dream, but it quickly slipped away. I remember a morphine needle vividly. Erik was injecting it into my arm. I was screaming, and he then crumpled. The thought made me sit up straight and look at him to make sure he was not dead. He wasn't; in fact, he was very much awake, staring at the ceiling and looking faintly puzzled.

"Oh, Erik!" I cried happily, having to resist the urge to hug him. The outburst shifted his attention from the ceiling to me, and I smiled.

"It's all…very confusing," he said slowly, apparently having difficulty stringing two words together.

"What is?"

"Trying…to remember. Where am I?" He seemed to lose interest already and his eyes roamed, searched, explored. I took his hand and his gaze slowly shifted back onto me.

"You're in my room, Erik. In your house," I responded firmly, though my voice had a slight waver in it.

"Really?" He sounded genuinely curious, but not overly-so. I nodded and continued:

"You overdosed on morphine, Erik. Did you know that? That's why you're in bed."

But his eyes were already beginning to close. I wanted him to stay awake. I wanted normal Erik. This confused and slow Erik was frightening me. What if he never fully recovered? I gave a small, dry sob. This change of positions was all very new. Erik had always been the one patiently explaining things to me, telling me where I was and why. My mind had become so adjusted to this, that being in this situation was frightening.

"Erik," I whispered, "please come back…"

He was already asleep once again.

----

A few hours later found me standing, immobile, in my bathroom, staring at the tub. I needed to bathe. The necessity of cleanliness had driven me to get up, grab some night clothes, and walk into the bathroom. But I stopped short. To bathe would mean I would have to peel off every article of clothing. And only a door separated Erik from me. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself he was out cold, I could not move. There was a lock on the bathroom door, but a lock could not stop him. And so, I did what I had done my first time bathing; I filled up the tub, stripped, stepped in and stepped out, grabbing a towel and wrapping it firmly around myself. A sigh of relief fluttered around the white room, and I poked my head out quickly to find that he had not moved the slightest.

My eyes were still aching with tiredness. I yawned widely and pulled a few extra blankets out of my wardrobe to make myself a small bed on the couch in the corner. I was too tired to worry about Erik doing something just then, and I felt better since I was clean. But I still had to deal with nightmares. It was a confused, garbled kind of sleep, and I spent most of the time laying on the couch with my eyes wide. But I soon had an excuse to get up.

Erik was coughing violently. The blankets flew and I hurried to his side. Without so much as a glance at me, he began to drag himself out of bed, still coughing.

"Erik!" I scolded. "Erik, get back in bed!"

With a pitiable crawl he made his way towards the bathroom. I followed him uncertainly, unsure if I should get him back in bed or let him exert himself. But a few minutes later, I found out it was a good thing I did. He violently retched into the toilet, his thin back expanding and contracting alarmingly. I can't lie; it was a repulsive sight, and I had to look away until he was finished. Exhausted panting echoed around the room.

"Chris…Chris…" He was having trouble finding the breath to say anything and so I quieted him, telling him that he needed to get back into bed and sleep. But he completely ignored me, pulled himself up onto his knees, and grabbed my forearm. It surprised and scared me; his grip was still unnaturally strong.

"I…I…need…"

"Yes," I said breathlessly, trying to pry his hand away. "Yes, I'll get you what you need, Erik. You just have to get back into bed. Come on."

But he was stubborn and refused to be moved.

"I need…I need…to say…say…"

"Erik, you can say whatever you want. You just need to lie down; you're still horribly weak." I was getting rather exasperated, and tears of frustration pricked my eyes, but I would not let them fall. "Please, Erik. Get up." I pulled on his arm, rather roughly, I must admit. His bare face was looking straight at me, and I swallowed nervously. I wanted him to sleep more, to become sane again, to wear his mask. Giving a frustrated cry, I turned and hurried out of the room. I simply needed a break, a small pause to collect my thoughts…

Since I had my eyes foolishly downcast, I ran straight into Madame.

"S – sorry."

"What are you doing?" she asked coldly. I glanced at her, a bit surprised.

"I'm just…taking a small break…and – "

To my further surprise and embarrassment, I was cut off sharply by a hard slap. She had slapped me! I held my cheek in astonished shock and stared at her.

"You selfish girl," she breathed, her eyes narrowing. "Stop crying and get back in there! Take care of your husband!"

Heartily shook and feeling miserable, I turned and shuffled back into the bathroom, trying to blink back tears and ignore the stinging in my cheek. Erik was a few feet closer towards the door, holding himself up on all fours and obviously trying to get back into bed. And suddenly I couldn't hold anything back anymore. I dropped to my knees and threw my arms around him, sobbing.

"Oh, Erik. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for everything I said and did. I'm sorry for my stupidity and ignorance. I'm so sorry…"

Still crying breathlessly, I helped him crawl back into bed and watched him fall asleep once again. I put my head down on the mattress beside him, my sobs subsiding into faint hiccups. Eventually I calmed myself down and relaxed, closing my eyes. For the first time in a long time, I slept peacefully.

* * *

**A/N: As I have never been affiliated with morphine, I'm not sure all of my facts are straight. Please understand that the internet can only tell you much. **


	32. The Three Musketeers

**The Three Musketeers**

I woke to find Erik fully awake, seemingly much better than before. He was struggling to remain sitting up, at least. As I lifted my head groggily he gave me a small smile. To my embarrassment, I saw that I had been curled up on the bed next to him. I scrambled off, taking a few steps away from the bed and standing poker-straight, a blush rising.

"I'm – I'm sorry."

He gave another strained sort of half-smile and I fell silent. I then noticed that he was wearing his mask. His shirt was crisp and he smelled of soap; he must have exhausted himself trying to become clean. My slight shame increased as I realized that, even while deathly ill, he did anything he could to please me.

"You slept for quite a while," he said softly. His voice was rather hoarse and he had to pause a few times to take a breath, but it was a real sentence! I gave a smile in return.

"How long is quite a while?"

"Fifteen or sixteen hours, if I'm not mistaken. Catching up on your sleep, I presume?"

I yawned widely and stretched my arms. "I guess so. I feel better now. How do you feel, though?" I asked, my anxiousness returning once more.

"Fine. But I have been better."

"You'll be perfect in a few weeks. You just need – "

My stomach interrupted me with a loud snarl. I blushed.

"There is breakfast waiting for you in the dining room," Erik said wearily.

"Aren't you hungry?" I asked, eager to leave and eat something.

"Hardly. Anyways, I doubt I could stomach anything right now."

He gave a small grimace and shooed me out of the room. I was nearly skipping as I made my way down the hall. Erik was recovering, and very well at that. He was still obviously weak, and he seemed to have trouble keeping enough breath to talk fluently, but I was sure that that would pass easily enough. I quickly shoveled down my breakfast and then went back to my room, cheerful, to find Erik still in bed with his eyes closed. I immediately tried to soften my steps and breathing, afraid of waking him. However, he was awake.

"It's quite all right," he said suddenly, his eyes still closed. "Come and sit down."

I sat in the comfortable armchair that was resting near the bed and waited. He gave a sigh and opened his eyes, turning them on me with his usual intensity. I still blushed slightly under his gaze.

"Christine."

I waited patiently for him to say something.

"It…it is not easy for me to say this. You know I will die soon – "

I cut him off with a small, sad whimper, but he continued as if he hadn't heard me.

"There is absolutely no sense for you to remain here and watch me die. If you wish, I shall return you to New York and set your affairs in order. It would be as if you had never left. Know that I only want what you want."

I nodded to show that I understood. No matter how much I was tempted to leave, Madame's words rang in my ears. "_You selfish girl_…" I had been so selfish, and he did say that he didn't have that much time to live. I could survive for another few months. Added to that was the look in his eyes – that pleading, soulful look that made my heart begin to break.

He took my silence for stunned satisfaction and sighed sadly. "Very well. I shall arrange – "

"Wait!" I said sharply, cutting him off. "I haven't said anything…but – but I'm not going to leave. I've been so selfish, Erik, and you really should hate me. So think of this as my measly apology. I'm sorry, and I'm staying."

The silence was suddenly broken by his heaving sobs. He took my hand and pressed it to his lips, falling out of the bed onto his knees and sobbing into my lap. I had no idea what to say or do, and so I put my hand on his hair and tried to stroke it soothingly. It was surprisingly soft – like a newborn baby's hair.

"Christine," he murmured, "I love you."

For the first time, I smiled when I heard that.

----

Erik slowly recuperated, finding the strength to stay out of bed longer and longer. He was still rather weak and could not yet make it downstairs. His continual pining and moaning over his music irritated me so much that I dashed downstairs to grab something and brought it upstairs for him. It kept him occupied, thankfully. I was rather bored, though, picking out books from the library and only reading the first few pages before choosing another one for the next day. However, I was happy to be around Erik, who was becoming his usual self at an alarming rate. I worried obsessively with making sure he was comfortable all the time.

"Stop that, Christine, I'm quite all right, I just – no, I don't _need _another blanket, I think I now might suffer a heat stroke."

Or:

"Just leave the blasted pillows alone! They haven't changed since the last time you beat them a few minutes ago. Stop fussing over me!"

He was pushing himself too hard, though. Heartily embarrassed that I had to help him walk everywhere, he would spend too much time on his own feet, trying to walk steadily, but always collapsing exhaustedly. I told him all the time that he needed more rest before he would be able to walk without help, but he would quickly shrug off the comments and pull himself out of bed, trying to hide the slight pain evident on his face. It took quite a while before he was strong enough to walk by himself to and from the dining room, but as soon as he had accomplished that he wanted to go downstairs.

"I'm going," he snapped stubbornly. "With or without your approval."

Of course I accompanied him. Worried of him falling, I followed him down the stairs, asking each time he paused if he was all right, at which he would give an impatient grunt and take off again. This was going quite well, as a matter of fact. But inside, I think I knew that he would never fully recover. His left hand, I noticed, had become rather stiff and difficult to work with. And although he never brought it up, I caught him flexing it impatiently, clearly angry at its obvious lack of cooperation.

When we reached his music room he collapsed onto the couch, closing his eyes and breathing heavily. I didn't want to think about how we were to get upstairs.

"You see?" he panted, glaring triumphantly at me. "I told you I could."

I gave a weak smile in return and watched him move over to the organ, an actual smile breaking onto his lips as he seated himself. Taking a few, deep breaths he placed his fingers on the keys and was off. I had heard this piece before, and I couldn't help but notice that he had played it much, much faster. He obviously seemed to note it too, because I saw him frown and bend over a bit more, forcing his fingers to trail up and down the keyboard. Evidently unsatisfied, he gave a furious sigh and banged his fist onto the keys, creating a horrible wailing sound.

"You're expecting too much of yourself," I immediately told him. "You've come really far in a short amount of time. Let your body heal itself! If you carry on like this you'll destroy it again."

He ignored my advice and said, "Perhaps you had better go upstairs."

"But how – "

"Perhaps you had better leave _now_," he growled. I nodded immediately and took off. When he said something like that it was in my better interest not to argue. To occupy myself, I folded the blankets that rested on the couch in my room and stacked them neatly to the side. That had been my bed for the past few weeks, since Erik was occupying mine. It had been extremely uncomfortable the first few nights, and I was still a little wary, but eventually I was able to fall asleep without much fuss. I wondered if, now that he could walk downstairs, he would sleep in his coffin and was extremely shocked to find that I would be sad if he did. Perhaps I had become so used to his company and presence that being away from him for a few hours made me realize that I was rather alone in the world. But an annoying voice in the back of my mind told me otherwise.

----

How Erik managed to get upstairs, I never found out. He left every morning, and I accompanied him, only to turn right back around when we reached his music room. A few days into this pattern he surprised me by requesting that I stay for an hour or so to sing. I eagerly agreed, and so another pattern had begun.

To my further surprise, I found a letter written to me from Lydia along with my breakfast one morning. As I unfolded the letter I shivered; it was becoming cold again, and I knew that Christmas was not far off. Three Christmases…three years. Such a long time; what had happened to everyone?

_Dear Christine_,

_How are you_? _I haven_'_t heard from you in the longest time_! (At this I cleared my throat guiltily.) _Exciting things have happened over here_. _Michael_'_s been promoted and Becca got second place at her dance competition_! _We_'_re very proud_.

_But first and foremost _– _I had my baby_! _A beautiful little girl we named Grace_. _Becca_'_s thrilled_, _of course_, _and – _

I didn't read anymore, but immediately leapt up and flew downstairs, a smile quickly placing itself on my face.

"Erik? Erik!" I half-shouted, seeing that the music room was dark and noticing the library door propped open.

"Erik!" I said breathlessly, flinging the door open wide. "Did you hear? Isn't it wonderful? Lydia – !"

But I stopped short when I saw that Erik had company. His business partner was sitting opposite him, looking pleasantly surprised to see me standing there.

"Oh," I said stupidly, glancing at Erik, who looked ruffled. He looked at the man once and stood slowly.

"Good day, my dear. You can see that we have a guest with us. Christine, this is Nadir Khan, my…friend." He glared at Nadir Khan, who also stood.

"Miss Daae," he said, making a courteous little bow, which I found embarrassingly unnecessary. I stuttered a hello and looked at Erik for instructions. But he seemed to be avoiding my eye and stared glumly at the wall.

"Erik and I were just discussing you," Nadir Khan continued, smiling a little, and I found that I liked Mr. Khan very much. "Have you found your – erm – _stay_ here enjoyable?"

"Oh. Um, yes…Well, I mean – I just had a little…but I'm fine now," I finished lamely, ending in a quiet whisper and moving my eyes to my shoes.

Nadir Khan nodded and looked back at Erik, who seemed to snap back into the present.

"Christine, dear, why don't you run back upstairs and finish your letter? You can tell me all about it later."

I knew he was hinting that he wanted to be alone with Mr. Khan. I nodded once and turned to leave, shutting the door quietly behind me. At the foot of the stairs I hesitated; they had been discussing me, and I had interrupted their conversation, so surely they would finish their argument? My curiosity ate at me, and I crept back towards the door, trying not to breathe at all. Mr. Khan was speaking.

"Really, Erik, be reasonable!"

"I am!" was the sharp reply. "I offered her her freedom, but she refused!"

"I really cannot believe that."

"Then don't. See if I care." There was a pause, and I held my breath quickly, afraid that they might have heard me. But Erik spoke again, except this time it was in a different language. I frowned as Mr. Khan replied in the same language. When it was obvious that they weren't going to switch back to English, I finally went upstairs, disappointed, hearing their raised, useless voices. Lydia's letter consisted mostly of information about Grace, but I found that it wasn't nearly interesting as it had been. I folded the letter up and placed it on my nightstand, read for a few hours, then went to dinner. Erik was not there; as he became healthier, I told him to eat more, and he usually dined with me – or rather, he watched as I ate and pushed his food around. But I had still enjoyed his company and was rather gloomy as I went back to my bedroom to ready myself for bed. Finally, dressed and my long hair brushed, I sat down on my bed and picked up _The Three Musketeers_. It had been one of the few books that I had sincerely enjoyed. I was just reading where Milady had poisoned Madame Bonacieux and was gasping in horror when Erik walked in, looking haggard.

"Oh, good. I was getting a bit worried," I said, tossing the book aside and sitting up fully. "What kept you?"

"Khan," he said shortly, running a hand through his hair and sighing irritably. He then paused and looked at me hesitantly. "You…you _are _happy here, are you not?"

Was I? I had to think for a few moments before answering. Then I tried to remember the last time I had longed for New York, and I couldn't. Everything seemed to be divided into two categories now: my life before Erik and my time with him. I found that I only missed my old home slightly.

"Yes."

He looked at me shrewdly, trying to detect a flicker of untruthfulness, and I stared back, trying to let my thoughts and emotions show. Finally he seemed satisfied and turned away to remove his outer jacket.

"Your sister wrote you."

"Oh, yes," I said, glancing at the letter. "She just said she had her baby; a girl, but you know that…" We fell silent. I chewed on my lip as he finally got the jacket off and turned back around.

"What is that you're reading?" he asked casually, glancing at the upturned book.

"_Three Musketeers_," I answered promptly. "That witch, Milady, just poisoned Madame Bonacieux. Poor D'Artagnan; he's going to be crushed."

"Oh, he was," Erik replied earnestly, obviously glad to be able to have a real conversation. "But you will love the ending."

"Madame Bonacieux's not poisoned?" I asked hopefully, kneeling on the bed and watching him undo the tie of cloth around his neck. He gave another crooked smile.

"Allow me to say that Milady deserves exactly what she receives."

"She dies? Good!"

"I never said that," he teased, sitting down beside me. I picked up the book and placed it in his hands.

"Will you read the rest?" I begged. "It would sound so much better if you did!"

"Are…you sure?" He sounded slightly hesitant. I nodded immediately and settled myself beside him, waiting for him to begin, which he finally did. The story was, of course, one thousand times better when Erik read it. I could quite clearly visualize the chase of Milady, the capture, and then…

"_The two arms fell with a sudden force_; _they heard the hissing of the scimitar and the cry of the victim_, _then a truncated mass sank beneath the blow_," Erik read delightfully, and I cut him off.

"I told you!" I sang, peering over his shoulder. Another half-smile overcame his thin lips, and he shushed me. The book ended close to an hour later. My head had come to a rest on his shoulder, and I smiled sleepily.

"I liked that book," I yawned, as he put it on the nightstand. "I'm glad Porthos married Mme. Whats-her-face – "

"Coquenard," Erik supplied quietly. He was slightly out of breath, having never gone that long talking since his overdose. I nodded and yawned again, sinking deeper into the bed. "Perhaps you had better go to sleep."

"All right, there's no need to shove me off!" I laughed and smiled up at him.

Then, without any warning, Erik put both his hands on my cheeks and brought me closer. His cold, stony lips pressed themselves to my forehead. My breath stopped short; his tender kiss was, perhaps, longer than necessary, but I found that I did not resent this at all. I blushed at the realization and pulled away slightly; his hands fell, and he looked quite as startled as I was. Muttering a goodnight, I slid off the bed and walked over to the couch. Later, as I lay there, the unnatural stillness and quiet of the bed made me realize that I was not the only one awake.


	33. The Nightmare

**The Nightmare**

"Please, Erik?"

"No!"

"Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top?"

"Absolutely not!"

I gave a pout and followed him into his library. The entire morning had been full of these little repartees, usually consisting of "Please?"es and "No!"s. No matter how much I begged and whined, he would not move out of his dark basement. I told him that it was bad for his health, that the brightness on my floor would surely make him better faster, that I missed him while he was downstairs, that I would gladly give up my library and sitting room for his library and music room. I promised I would carry everything up myself and he would not have to lift a finger, at which he laughed darkly.

"And how, my dear, would you manage with my organ and piano?"

"I'd manage," I lied. "Please, Erik. It's so horrible and cold down here. It's like a bat cave or an underground pit. Plus you wouldn't have to exert yourself walking up and down those stairs all the time."

"The last offer is fairly tempting," he said carelessly, picking through a Russian newspaper. I glanced at the front page, disappointed once again that I could not understand a single word of it, and resumed my argument.

"See? Would you rather live down here in this dark and ugly hole or upstairs where it's warm…and I'm there." I blushed as I said the last three words. Erik looked at me over the top of his paper.

"That really is quite appealing, darling, but I wouldn't want to jeopardize your library or sitting room or your peace."

"What does 'my peace' have to do with any of this?" I laughed.

He gave a cross sigh and folded the paper together with a bit more force than necessary. "If I move upstairs you shall regret it instantly. I play constantly, sometimes all night, and you would not get any sleep. I am not much for company and I'm usually always irritated about something, so you would have to deal with my temper which I know for a fact that you are not fond of." He inclined his head a bit. "And I simply do not want to."

When I opened my mouth he held his hand up. "Enough, Christine. I will not do that to you. Now, please, let me finish my paper." He opened it again, found his page, and began to read.

"What's happening?" I asked thoughtlessly, though the look on his face made me want to lock myself in some room.

"Nothing that concerns you," he retorted coldly. Then he stood swiftly and swept from the library, slamming the door loudly behind him and causing me to jump slightly. I actually didn't know what had upset him so badly. The paper was Russian, after all, and it wasn't as if anything in Russia could help me. I was just trying to spark another conversation. After a sad sigh I stood up, too, and went upstairs, thoroughly miserable.

Erik was at dinner, which surprised me, because usually after arguments he doesn't speak to me until the next day. Watching him stab his fish into an unrecognizable lump, I half-smiled.

"How did you grow so tall?" I teased. "Did your mother force-feed you?"

His fork froze, and for the second time he glared at me. I gave a hurt, angry cry and leapt from the table, extremely tempted the toss my plate into his lap. But I thought better of it and simply went to my room, falling into a miserable sprawl on my couch. I had no idea what to say, what he wanted me to say, and I was still doing things wrong! Something was always wrong with me. _I definitely _don't _want him up here anymore_, I thought sullenly, angrily and huffily getting ready for bed. I had just settled in when I heard Erik come in. Pretending to be asleep, I listened to him stop, sigh, and sit on the bed. Usually I would say goodnight, but I was much too angry with him. Finally, after many repressed sighs and silent insults to him, I dozed off into the worst night's sleep I had ever had.

_Someone was screaming_. _Horrible_, _horrible screams_! _They echoed around the blinding white that surrounded me_, _and I stumbled forward_, _trying to find the cause of the painful yells_. _A sob caught in my throat_; _I was crying_, _desperately trying to silence the yells that were breaking my heart_. _The white grew into a pitch-black darkness_. _The screams persisted_, _growing even louder_. _By now I was running, sobbing breathlessly_.

"_Stop_!" _I begged the darkness_. "_Please_, _stop_!"

_And suddenly_, _the_ _blackness grew brighter again_, _and I could make out someone lying on the ground_. _It was a dark-haired young man, completely unrecognizable_, _his face twisted with pain_. _I knelt beside him_, _and as soon as my hands came to a rest on his chest he transformed into Erik_, _writhing and screaming at the top of his lungs_, _clearly in mortal agony_. _And suddenly a morphine needle appeared and plunged into his heart_. _He gave a truly awful, heart-stopping shriek and fell silent_. _And I started screaming myself_, _shaking his limp form and sobbing_, _unable to breathe_, _unable to think_.

"Christine! _Christine_!"

_He was dead_…

Someone was shouting my name, and I slowly became aware of the fact that that someone was shaking me. My eyes opened with a snap and a startled gasp.

"Christine, oh Christine, darling."

My eyes went wildly around the room, expecting to see a body on the floor, panting exhaustedly and feeling as if I had just run a great distance. My face was sticky, and I realized it was covered in tears. Someone hugged me tightly and rocked back and forth, stroking my hair and trying to soothe me.

"You're perfectly all right, Christine, it was just a dream, only a dream. You're fine…"

A dream. And yet it had been so real! So horribly vivid. The screams still echoed in my head, and I gave another sob, grabbing whatever I could tightly. My eyes became adjusted to the inky blackness, and I looked up to find Erik, perfectly alive and looking concernedly at me.

"Erik…?" I whispered, and, for the second time, felt wonderful relief at seeing him alive.

He nodded.

"The screaming," I moaned, burying my face into his chest. "The screaming…Oh, please make it stop, Erik."

He put his hands on my cheeks and wiped the still-falling tears away with his thumbs, shushing me and trying to calm me down.

"Now, you had a nightmare, darling. Would you like to tell me about it?"

I shook my head no but told him anyways. "There was screaming, horrible, horrible screaming! I can still hear it in my head, it won't go away!"

And, to my further shock that night, Erik leaned down and placed a feathery kiss on the tip of my nose, leaving me breathless and numb.

"Better?"

I nodded quietly. "There was someone there, I don't know who, but he – he was screaming so loudly. It hurt my head. And then…then he turned into you, and you – you were screaming too. And there was a morphine needle, and – and – and – " I was overcome with a fresh wave of sobs and clung to the fabric I had a hold of desperately.

"You need to sleep to clear your head. You are still confused and frightened, my dear. Let me fetch you something."

I nodded, not really sure of what he was saying but in desperate need of something else to do other than think about the horrible things I had seen. I waited for him to rise, but he didn't.

"Christine," he said gently, "I cannot leave if you have a death grip on my trousers."

I then realized that I had indeed been clutching the fabric of his pants, right above the knee, and I let go quickly. He left for a few moments, while I took deep breaths from my stomach, trying to calm myself down. The morphine needle had scared me worse than the screaming, and I knew that I would have to ask Erik about his morphine problem. The thought did not cheer me up or calm me down.

He returned a few minutes later carrying a tall, clear glass of seemingly innocent water and handed it to me. As I took it I said, "I need to talk to you about – "

"Yes, darling, later. Just drink this now and sleep."

"But – but it's really – "

"No more talking. Just drink." He said this with the first touch of impatience in his voice. I gave a disappointed sigh and quickly drained the glass. After lying down properly I felt him move the blankets up to my chin and he began to walk away. I grabbed the bottom of his shirt.

"Don't leave." My vision was swimming and I blinked a few times, trying to keep him in focus. "Please."

"Christine, I have to – "

"Take me with you!" I commanded wildly, thinking that he was going to leave me alone forever. My mind and mouth shutting down and my eyes were closing. "Take me…" I felt something slip under my legs and back, and then I finally fell unconscious.

----

I woke several hours later, stiff but wonderfully refreshed. The dream had faded slightly and I could not recall the minor details that I had been able to immediately afterwards. This cheered me until I realized that I was sleeping in my bed. My old bed. I hadn't slept in this since Erik had overdosed. He was nowhere in the room, and I checked myself frantically. Everything seemed to be in perfect condition, but I was still rather uneasy as I bathed and went to face him at breakfast. He was still reading his Russian paper and, after glancing over the top, stood.

"Good morning, my dear. Do you feel better?"

I nodded quietly and sat down, looking at the oatmeal. Any other day it would have looked delicious, steaming with fresh raspberries and a nice portion of cream poured into the bowl, but right then it made me feel slightly squeamish. I pushed it away.

"Is something not to your liking?"

I shook my head and clenched my jaw slightly.

"What is it, then?"

I took a deep breath and burst out, "Erik, what happened last night?"

"You had a nightmare, dear. Quite dreadful, too. You were screaming and crying in your sleep." He looked slightly worried as he said this.

"No. I mean after, when I fell asleep." My neck grew warm and his eyes widened with understanding.

"Oh, oh yes. Yes, you woke up in – oh, yes. I had forgotten." He then looked at me in a business-like way. "Nothing at all, and I will swear by anything you wish that I simply set you on the bed and pulled the sheets up to your chin. I…I didn't touch you. Believe me; I would never, ever do that. How could I sink that low?"

He sounded genuinely sincere, though, of course, he was a wonderful actor. "But why did you put me there at all?"

"I thought you might have liked a little more room while you slept off the nightmare," he explained, going back to his paper. I gave an unseen nod and pulled the cereal towards me.

Later, after lunch, I decided that it was high time to confront him about his morphine addiction. Although I picked a wrong time. He had become irritable and surly as soon as I took my spot on the fainting couch in his music room.

"Erik?" I tried to capture his attention, but he did not turned away from the piece he was working on. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm rather busy at the moment," he snapped, angrily crossing out a measure and scribbling down something else. I swallowed and tried to persuade my mouth to try again.

"It's – it's important."

"Yes, well so is this!"

I then noticed that he was working on his _Don Juan_. There was absolutely no point in trying to get sense out of him while he was working his opera. The opera was probably the closest thing to his heart. He understood it, and it understood him. Kind of like a tragic poet sort of thing, I suppose. After giving an irritable sigh I stood and slouched off upstairs, angry at his opera for being the first of us to show up in his life. When he emerged hours later to make his customary mess of his dinner plate, I immediately seized my chance.

"I need to talk to you."

He looked at me blearily. "Not tonight, please, Christine. I am too tired." He actually had his elbow up on the table and was resting his chin in his palm, something he had never done and for which he had scolded me more than a few times. He left before I did, a first, and stumbled off for the bedroom, leaning against the wall. After I checked that he made it to the bedroom without collapsing I finished my dinner and left, too. Closing the door softly behind me, I made my way over and took out a nightgown. When I changed and emerged, I paused as I passed by the bed.

Strange, but I had never really seen Erik asleep. He was always the last one to enter the room at night and the first to leave. Nothing had motivated me to get up and watch him sleep, but now, it was quite sweet. His head was slightly tilted and his mouth partially open, breathing deeply, his thin chest rising and falling with a distinct rhythm. Thin arms were tossed over his stomach and his large hands were relaxed. A faint smile curved on my lips and I watched him for a few moments more before my eyes were drawn to the crook of his right arm. I swallowed nervously. Somehow, without realizing what I was doing, my hands were pulling up his sleeve, my eyes anxiously watching for any sign of movement from him. However, he must have been dead asleep, for he didn't move in the slightest.

It was too dim to see properly, so I flipped on the lamp next to us and examined the wound. A gasp jumped into my mouth and I fought the tears in my eyes. It was just as bad, if worse, as the night that I had first seen it. And to my further horror, I saw a trail of dried blood down his forearm. If I was correct, it had only happened earlier tonight! Suddenly I was shaking him, shouting his name, waking him up.

"Wha – ?" he said groggily, trying to open his eyes.

"Erik, what is this?" I hissed at him, shaking his right arm. He gave a slight cry of pain and jerked it from my grasp, cradling it in his left arm. Fully awake now, he glared at me.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. I would not recoil and climbed up next to him. He shifted over hurriedly, giving me plenty of room. Ignoring his further protests, I took his right arm from him and yanked the sleeve up once again.

"What is this?" I questioned softly, with an underlying fury in my tone.

He fell silent.

"I want you to stop." My feelings were quite calm. I looked into his eyes and repeated, "I want you to stop."

I saw him swallow, and he started, "Christine – "

"No. No excuses. I want you to stop, Erik. This is what's killing you, isn't it?"

"It – it is impossible," he said quietly. I gave an understanding nod.

"I know it'll be hard. But I know you can if you really wanted to. You can do anything if you really want to."

He gave a small shake of his head. "It isn't that. I simply _cannot _quit. To suddenly discontinue while in so deep…It can't be done."

"But I can help you!" I took his left hand and squeezed it. "Please, Erik, you need to quit."

He shifted slightly so that he looking straight at me. "Christine, listen to me. _I cannot quit_. To suddenly stop dosing is fatal."

The breath was stolen from my lungs and I was suddenly falling again. No matter what happened, no matter what I did, Erik was going to die. He couldn't keep dosing or he would die, but he couldn't stop dosing or he would die. My lower lip trembled pathetically. He looked at me sadly and opened his arms.

"My darling child," he whispered as I threw my arms around him. "I am so sorry."

I cried.


	34. Letting Go

**Letting Go**

The feelings I had were suddenly bursting to a fresh, new, and startling reality. My tiny, fragile feelings of affection were budding into…well, more. And I was finding that I wasn't afraid. I wasn't worried about what people would think anymore; these few months were about Erik, and he wanted love. Maybe, just maybe, I could provide him with that. I found myself smiling for no reason in particular and seeking his company more and more. He was generally bemused, but made no complaint, so I didn't stop.

"Erik," I sighed dreamily one afternoon, "what day did we get married?"

He looked up, very startled, from his book and stared at me incredulously.

"I beg your pardon?"

"What day did we get married?"

He glared at me suspiciously, but responded crisply, "March fourteenth."

"What's today?"

"December twentieth."

"There are five days until Christmas," I noted blankly, staring into the fire, which was a rare treat to have and made me cheerful yet absentminded.

He sat up a bit. "Yes, about that. I would like to take you out tomorrow."

"Another surprise?" This time, however, I was feeling eager. Perhaps I would get to see Lydia again.

He nodded. "I hope you will like it." Then he went back to his book, but I noticed that his eyes were narrowed a bit worriedly. That made me become slightly anxious too, and for the rest of the evening I worried.

We settled comfortably in the car the next morning. As I leaned to the side slightly, the side of my body came into contact with his, so that we were comfortably sitting very close. Comfortably physically, but I was sure he was uncomfortably mentally. I, however, was perfectly content, and I made no progress in moving away. He was cold, as always, but for once I found it soothing and leaned closer to him. I heard his breath stop in his throat, and he was unnaturally stiff the rest of the ride; it was an opportune time to think.

There were so many memories in this car; excruciatingly painful and wonderfully tender. I remembered my terror of being kidnapped and the first time Erik took me outside. Then he took me out for my first Christmas, and I remembered, with a flitting stab of panic, the man that Erik unquestionably killed – or, as he had claimed, had been "simply unconscious." The next event was not so happy for me. My next car ride had been to the rotting chapel, and I had to admit that it still brought me a spell of grief at the fact that Erik had gone so far as to force me to marry him. I unconsciously twirled my ring around my finger as I remembered the wonderful opera that Erik had taken me to. Strange, the fact that I used to dislike the wonderful genre…And, with another stab of emotion, but this time guilt, I remembered Raoul. Wonderful Raoul, who tried to rescue me. I smiled humorlessly and twirled my ring faster. Mama Valerius caused another small bout of feeling, as Erik had taken me to her burial. Poor Mama; I remembered the time I fell asleep on her couch to avoid my apartment and laughed out loud. Erik shifted slightly beside me. Then Erik did something completely wonderful; he found Lydia and brought me to her. A warm wave of gratitude washed over me and my heart pounded a little quicker when I realized he was sitting right there. And the previous time Erik had taken me out for fresh air. The last few minutes had been awkward and resulted in many tears that night and the following weeks. I was determined that this trip would be different. It would be wonderful, something to look back upon and smile, something we could discuss happily.

However, it was quite the opposite.

The car stopped smoothly and I walked outside, automatically gasping and moving closer to Erik; the wind was biting through my clothes and whipping my hair around. Erik shielded most of the wind, and although I felt slightly guilty, I did not feel bad enough to emerge from the folds of his cloak. The blindfold had been slipped off, and I took in my surroundings. We were in a graveyard, somewhere completely unfamiliar and yet so annoyingly familiar. I strained my memory as Erik led me through the graves. The chilly wind had prevented anyone from emerging from their warm homes, and I privately agreed with them. My teeth were beginning to chatter.

"Erik? It's really, really cold," I prodded as we continued to walk. The grass was brown and ugly, and all the tall trees were skeletally bare. However, Erik continued to walk.

"Erik?" I asked again. He had always been so anxious to get me inside, away from the cold, but this time he only looked down at me and said soothingly:

"Just a bit farther. Come along, dear."

I clutched his long cloak around my body tighter and stayed as close as possible to him. My nose and ears started to grow numb, and just as I was going to whine one more time, Erik stopped abruptly. I looked down at my parents' graves and felt my stomach flood with mixed emotions.

"Oh," was all I said. I had not visited these since the funeral; they held too many unhappy memories and I did not need more misery in my life at that time. However, this felt different. I felt at peace and gazed down at the stone fondly, even managing to give a small smile. As I glanced up I saw Erik looking, not at the graves, but at me, obviously anxious for my reaction. I gave him a smile and muttered a thank you, feeling for his jacket, which I grasped in my right hand.

"They were wonderful people, really," I said suddenly, unaware of what caused this sudden desire to monologue. "It was hard for Mom when Dad just went away like that. They loved each other a lot."

Erik shifted his weight, still silent, and I felt my heart skip a beat. Now, after all these years of wondering, I would finally understand just how my mother felt. And I was definitely not looking forward to it. To try and deter from this unpleasant thought, I turned my attention to Erik.

"What about your parents?" I knew he had forbidden me to ask him questions about his childhood, but I thought that now, after all that was happening and all we had shared with each other, he would be lenient. He was – slightly.

"My parents loved each other." It was said in an unnaturally strained voice. He cleared his throat slightly and was silent.

"What were they like?" I asked softly. With a bitter look on his face he looked away into the graveyard.

"My mother was beautiful and my father was handsome. He left her when I was born."

I suddenly felt tactless and my stomach squirmed unpleasantly. "I'm sorry," was all I could think of to say. He gave a hollow, chilling laugh that seemed to echo throughout the graveyard and bit me more than the wind.

"Why? He hated the mere sight of me. So did she. And she hated me even more, if possible, because I was the reason he left. I suppose it was the right thing, really, what he did."

Injustice boiled up inside of me, and I felt a stirring hatred for his parents. "Don't you dare say that! It wasn't your fault at all! It wasn't your fault that your father was a coward, that he abandoned both of you, and that – "

Something cold abruptly enclosed around my hand and squeezed. I stopped ranting abruptly and gave a small squeak, though I then realized that it was Erik's hand and looked up at him; he was wearing a sad smile and shook his head slightly.

"May I – may I ask another question?" I said timidly. "You don't have to answer."

He thought for a moment, then nodded his approval.

"What happened to them?"

"My father died. My mother stabbed herself when I was fourteen. But of course you know that."

"I…I do?" I strained my memory, but could not recall the time when he had given me any information on his parents. An exasperated sigh fell from his thin lips and he shook his head.

"Honestly, darling. I told you my mother was dead when you broke her mirror."

I then remembered, but did not feel embarrassed, as it had been so long ago, and I never liked thinking about breaking the beautiful piece of art. His father had died, and then his mother committed suicide…The upsurge of affection was so strong and startling that I was later surprised that I didn't burst into tears and kiss him right then. However, I managed to control myself, though I still shook slightly, and remained silent. I felt as if there was something that was connecting us now, something that had never been there before. Our parents' tragedies seemed to give me a harsh push towards the word love.

"But you must be freezing!" Erik said suddenly, as if he had only realized the wind. He pulled off his cloak and wrapped it tighter around my shaking frame. I muttered a thanks and tramped back to the car with him, pausing only once to glance at the two sad, weather-beaten tombstones. I was still cold in the car and huddled close to Erik, who, for once, seemed quite comfortable to be there.

----

The next few days passed by in a blur. I don't know if the reality of our new connection with one another allowed us to get on without much more emotion. And suddenly it was Christmas Eve once again. We had been down in the music room and I was singing, _Oh mattutini albori _from _La donna del lago_When Erik finally let me stop I dropped into the fainting couch, flushed and rather pleased with myself. Although I thought that my visit to my parents' gravesite had been my present (and it had been a rather unpleasant, yet touching, gift), Erik had another surprise for me.

"Dress very warmly," he advised, stopping in the hall to wait for me. I did, having never felt properly warm since the wind in the graveyard. I walked out and waited for the blindfold patiently, but he shook his head.

"You will not be needing it."

Surprised and now eager, I followed him down the hall. He stopped at The Door. The Door that was always locked. The Door that led outside.

"Erik," I said, trying to reaffirm my decision to myself, "Erik, I already told you..."

But my voice cracked slightly. He nodded and produced a small key from seemingly nowhere. The door swung open easily and I followed him inside. But we were still not outside. We were in a small antechamber of some sort. There were three doors and he led me to the one on his immediate right. After putting the key into the lock once again, this door opened. I sighed softly.

Laid out before us was a beautiful, large courtyard. It was blanketed with soft snow and more was falling. High brick walls surrounded the entire thing, but I hardly noticed. Not daring to breathe, I stepped out and felt the snow _crunch _underneath me. Huge, towering trees stood with a thick layer of snow on their branches, and I knew that it was flowerbeds that lined the walkway. I turned back to Erik, who was once again looking at me with slight hesitation, waiting for my approval. I smiled, tossed my head back to catch the softly falling snow on my cheeks, and laughed. Erik called out to me.

"You...you like it, then?"

"Of course!" I turned to face him; something snagged at my joy. "Why didn't you show it to me sooner?"

For once he became slightly flustered. "Well, there never was an opportune time, you see, and...well..." He drifted off and looked away to a tree, frowning slightly. I shrugged and brushed off my near-sullenness.

"Oh, well. At least you showed it to me." I wandered about the courtyard, pausing here and there to inspect what should be a bush or pretty flowers next spring. Erik was still standing by the door, gazing around, looking quite expressionless. A mad, wonderful thought came to me. I knelt down, giggling madly, packed a snowball, stood, aimed, and launched it at him. The snow hit him nicely; square in the chest. Looking only mildly surprised, he brushed the snow off and looked at me, cocking an eyebrow. I waited, but that was all he did. Finally, I allowed myself to emerge from my shelter behind a tree and walked over to him.

"You missed your cue," I explained patiently. "You were supposed to throw one back at me." He did not move. I sighed and knelt down, motioning for him to join me on the wet, cold stone, which he didn't. "Here," I said, gathering some white snow. "You pack it up in your hands like this to make a ball. Then you stand and throw it at someone." I threw the snow and it landed with a soft _flump _on top of a skeleton bush. "Now you try."

Erik still remained maddeningly still, watching me as if I were something mildly interesting, like a pet cat or dog. I crossed my arms and sighed irritably.

"Fine," I snapped. My knees were wet and so were my hands and hair. I shivered, but hesitated when Erik suggested returning indoors.

"You will be able to return whenever you like," he promised me, opening the small door. "I gave it to you, and it is yours to use."

There was a nice fire waiting for us in my library. I changed out of the wet clothes and returned, though something else was snipping at my happiness. Erik had given me something wonderful every Christmas, and I had taken each one of his thought-out gifts without a second thought, without even the slightest notion that he might, after all, like something from me. Another little wave of selfish guilt ran over me, and I frowned slightly.

"Erik," I said suddenly, taking myself by surprise, "I was just wondering...is there something that you want from me? I mean, I know I can't give you anything materialistic, but if there's something...that you want, I would..." My sentence faded as he slowly turned to look at me. His eyes were so very different from what they had always been, and I gazed into them as I waited. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again quickly. After doing this two more times he turned away and said to the wall,

"Nothing."

I had to laugh at this. It was so apparently obvious that he did want something, but was too embarrassed or prideful to ask.

"Please, Erik. I'll give you anything I can, I promise."

He contemplated me for a moment. "You promise?" I was struck by how child-like he sounded, and nodded reassuringly.

"Well, there is one thing..." He startled to fiddle with anything he could get his hands on; I had never seen him do this and it amused me for a while to watch him twist his vest or finger the fireplace mantle. "I never...I mean, I always, but you promised...and I was just wondering if you could possibly...possibly give me...no one...but maybe..."

"For heaven's sake, Erik!" I cut him off, half-laughing and half- seriously irritated. "Just spit it out!"

He took a deep breath with an air of finality, closed his eyes, and said two words.

"A kiss."

He would not open his eyes to look at me. My mind had gone into deep shock for a few moments, and I was speechless. A kiss would mean many different things. What kind of kiss did he want? And there was the physical factor; although his face didn't bother me as much as it used it, it was still a rather gruesome visage. He opened his glowing eyes and took a jerky step towards me.

"You did promise," he said desperately. "You promised..."

My mouth went slightly dry when I realized that I had indeed promised, but my continued silence seemed to snap him back into his old self. He blinked a few times and the child-like look went away instantly.

"Of course." His tone was icy and it bit me worse than the wind at the cemetery. "Of course not. Yes, I can see the disgust on your face now. I apologize, my dear." He made a deep mocking bow and turned to the door. "It was quite foolish of me to request that. I bid you goodnight."

I decided in half a second. "Wait!" I cried as his hand was on the doorknob. "I haven't said no! Erik, I..." I swallowed and said quickly, "I will kiss you." There was a silence, and suddenly I felt horrible for doing this to him, for hesitating when he was so emotionally vulnerable. So I said it again, this time firmly.

"Of course I'll kiss you, Erik."

He froze and his breathing grew quicker. His hand slowly took itself from the doorknob and he turned around to face me, studying my expressions for any trace of a lie.

"You will?" he asked hoarsely. I nodded. "Kiss _me_?" I nodded. "Here?" He briefly brought his long, slender fingers to his lips and let his hand fall again. I nodded and waited, but he did not move. Clearly, I would have to walk to him. Such a silly thing. It probably took five steps, but each one seemed like five-hundred. He was waiting, watching me with unabashed wonderment on his face. And suddenly I was there. Right in front of him. He looked down, his breath ruffling the hair that framed my face. And suddenly, I took the plunge. I let go of my emotions and dived in, head first, into a pool of wonderful bliss.

My hands took his masked cheeks and I pulled him down, hesitating only for a fraction of a second, and as I pressed my lips to his, I felt him shudder.

It was the kiss that broke us.


	35. Lost from View

**I suppose I took Christine's emotions a bit too fast. I wasn't expecting the "WHAT?" reviews, but they did make me realize that this chapter might come as a bit of surprise to quite a few of you. Christine had been battling her feelings for quite a bit now, and so I finally had her jump. Please, be kind with the reviews...due to...further developments in this chapter. No matter how you feel, I will forever worship you all for your encouragement.**

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**Lost from View**

So much has happened. My heart fills with cold dread at the mere thought. It is only by habit and desperation that I continue this horrible recording. I want to fling it into flames and hold it to my breast, never to have it leave my sight. You were my only friend, dear journal, in my dark and turbulent times. You were my confidante, my comfort, and my sense of self during the first few years. Afterwards I continued only to occupy myself and to see how far I have come. I sit here, in this unfamiliar, sunlit room, choking back the sobs and listening intently for footsteps that might lead to more questions. I am so tired of questions, never-ending, probing, personal inquiries of everything. Everything. They want me to reveal every detail, every word spoken. I will never hand over these entries unless they pry it from my dead hands.

My head spins at the very word. _Dead_.

I suppose I should start out from where I stopped. I read my last entry, sobbing pathetically and drenching the thin, feeble pages. Such happiness. Untouchable now. But I must control myself. It is what he would have wanted. But how can I go on now? How can I possibly ever smile or laugh? How can I ever sing without you? It won't be possible to love someone again so deeply, so spiritually, and I shan't try. I don't want to continue, but my fondness for Raoul holds me back once again. He deserves more than I can give him, but will not admit it. I told him as soon as he mentioned marriage, but he only gave a chuckle and pressed his lips to my forehead, calmly saying that there hasn't felt this way about any other person. I could not say the same truthfully.

Now that I have stemmed the tears somewhat, I will be able to continue.

Once Erik got over the initial awkwardness of the whole thing, he was really the sweetest person imaginable. I had never known him to be more devoted, more caring, and, frankly, more loveable. After I found the sixth diamond necklace hiding under my pillow, however, I confronted him.

"Erik," I said sternly, but smiling, "I have to talk to you about all the gifts."

"You don't like them?" he asked, looking horrified.

"No!" I quickly assured him. "No, I love them! They're just all unnecessary. You don't have to give all these lavish presents to me. I…I just want you."

He stared at me, seemingly frozen, and I still fidgeted under the intensity. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Say it again."

"Say it again?" I repeated, a bit confused.

"Yes. Please."

"I just want _you_." My smile returned as he opened his eyes slowly. A laugh broke out onto my lips and I said something I knew he had been longing to hear his whole life.

"I love you, Erik!"

I threw my arms around him as the tears started and he kissed me, his tears falling onto my cheeks. Sobbing into my neck, he wrapped his arms around my frame and crushed me into him. My heart was pounding with feverish excitement; I loved Erik.

Later that night my peaceful slumber was woken gently by Erik, who was running his fingers through my hair and down my cheek. When he saw that I was awake he jerked backwards.

"Forgive me," he muttered.

I smiled sleepily and stretched. "What time is it?"

"Not yet three." His tone was calm, yet very quiet, and his eyes seemed rather lifeless.

"Is something wrong?"

He sighed and ran an agitated hand through his hair. I sat up and moved closer, breathing in the familiar scent and feeling the usual chills coursing through me.

"Erik?" I probed again as he remained silent.

His gaze shifted to me and he looked into my eyes for a while before saying, "What will happen to you when I am gone?"

I felt the blood drain out of my face and responded fiercely, "We aren't going to think about that. You're not going to die, Erik. I…I won't let you," I added desperately, tightly gripping his arm.

A weak, humorless chuckle was his response, and his cold hand came to a rest on my cheek. I smiled and, after he pulled the blanket up to my chin once again, fell asleep.

----

Days later I woke to find the bed untouched. He didn't usually leave the blankets strewn, but he at least tried to straighten them a bit. After I did my necessities for the morning I found Erik downstairs in his music room, fingering a large stack of music.

"It is finished," he said sorrowfully. I walked over to him and looked down at the handsomely emblazoned cover. _Don Juan Triumphant_. His magnum opus. I touched it reverently and felt a small chill go through me. It seemed to be vibrating a horrible air and I did not like it.

"What will you do with it?" I asked, tearing my finger away from the cover and looking up at him.

"Lock it away. Lock it away somewhere no one will ever find it. No one…"

Sensing he wanted to be alone with his abhorrently beautiful creation, I left quietly. He did not seem to notice, but I did not have to wait long. Seated at my vanity, I was braiding my hair when he entered. Before I could greet him he had pulled me upright and pressed me against his chest, harder than was comfortable.

"Erik – "

"Shh," he whispered. "Please don't speak." He simply held me like that for the longest time, and now, as I remember that I wished him to release me, I am angry at myself. I would give anything, _anything_, for him to hold me like that now! For him to kiss my forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips the way he did that afternoon. My eyes become blurry once again, and it is all I can do to not lose control completely. The pen shakes between my fingers and I want to fling it out the open window, but I force my aching hand to write down every single word, so as to not lose Erik completely. I can keep him in here, in these pages, but that does not seem to be enough.

When he finally, with apparent reluctance, held me at arms' length, he requested something else.

"Will you sing for me?"

He didn't need to ask. I would have done anything he asked. As we went downstairs I noticed that his hand was gripping mine tightly.

"Erik," I nudged gently, noticing him start suddenly, "is there something wrong?"

"What? Oh – oh, no, my darling. Nothing…nothing at all." His grip on my hand tightened a bit and he and pulled me next to the organ.

"What are we singing?" I asked politely.

"Anything…everything." He shuffled through his papers and swallowed, his hands trembling slightly.

I was a fool not to think of it at that time! A stupid, idiotic girl! I simply stood there and puzzled over why he was acting like this. The thought of death crossed my mind, but I didn't think he could possibly know which night he was to die, so I crossed that out. He would not tell me what was wrong, and I knew it was rather useless to try and wheedle information out of him.

We spent hours and hours simply singing. Our voices rose and fell in unison, letting the emotion and music envelop us in wonderful warm bliss. It was more than I can ever describe. The very sky seemed to open up for us and it seemed that if choirs of angels accompanied our duets. The floor shook with the emotion and power that poured from Erik's lithe fingers, and I felt it pounding in my chest. He named song after song, and they rolled off my tongue with more ease than they had ever before. It was only when I felt faint from hunger were we forced to stop for the night.

"One more, dear?" he pleaded, his undoubtedly aching fingers coming to a rest on the keyboard. I laughed weakly.

"Erik, I think I'm going to pass out. Besides, we can sing some more tomorrow."

"Yes," he muttered distractedly. "Yes, tomorrow…"

How I _loathe _myself! How I wish I could go back and never, ever leave that room! There is nothing more that I want than to hear Erik's angelic voice, to have it fill me, possess me, enthrall me. We walked back to the dining room, Erik gripping my hand tightly, and he sat, agitated, as I ate.

"There's something bothering you," I finally said, setting my glass down and frowning at him. "I wish you would tell me."

"It's nothing, dear child. Believe me. We simply…we haven't sang for the past few days."

I laughed. "That's all? Don't worry, Erik, we'll start again first thing tomorrow."

He forced a weak half-smile. "Yes, yes, first thing tomorrow."

Shouldn't I have realized the warning signs? Shouldn't I have been clever enough to see that it was _not _a lack of us singing? Shouldn't I have realized what was happening that night when it was unlike ever before? No, I was a stupid little fool. An idiot, a brainless girl! If I had known, if I had realized, would I have been able to do something? Could I have confronted him, and, in turn, stopped something? But I was witless and content to sleep there while Erik knew he was dying. I have no doubt that he was wide awake all night, probably musing about death and what it would be like. He wasn't afraid, I'm sure. Erik, my darling, how can I go on without you?

The first thing he did when I woke up was to hesitantly press his lips to mine. He was always so timid when it came to asking for physical affection. I was usually the one hinting, and only after I came out and said it would he kiss me. This was a pleasant surprise, and I giggled against his mouth. My stomach growled not long afterwards, but before I had the chance to walk out the door he had grabbed my wrist.

"Please don't go…" he whispered. I laughed again and submitted willingly; it had been the first time he begged me not to break away, and I was only too willing to comply with his wishes. However, another while later, my stomach was complaining far too loudly. My stupid stomach! The reason I spent less time with him, the cause of everything. If only I could have been like Erik and eaten one meal a day.

"Erik," I laughed, tugging my hand out of his, "I'm hungry. Really."

"Please, Christine, darling," he begged. "Don't go."

"What is it?" I asked sharply, slightly beginning to lose my patience, something for which I want to stab myself. His fingers slowly pried themselves from my wrist.

"Nothing. I apologize, dear."

When I was at the door he stopped me again.

"Christine!"

I turned around and folded my arms. "Yes?"

"I…" He swallowed harshly. "I love you." It was said with so much emotion and tenderness that my annoyance vanished on the spot.

"I love you too, Erik."

Smiling childishly, I went to breakfast. He didn't join me, but I was hardly ruffled. I flushed with pleasure at fond memories and poked my eggs idly, daydreaming about us. Finally, my stomach full, I emerged from the dining room, near to humming. However, the happiness and comfort that I had felt a moment earlier disappeared, replaced by cold, piercing dread, when I saw Madame standing outside my door, looking grim.

"What's going on?" I demanded.

"He is..." Her face showed no outward emotion, though she did not finish the sentence and simply looked at me.

"What?" I squeaked. "What's happening? Let me see him!"

I made to move around her to get to the door, but she grabbed my arm and shook her head.

"Let him die with some dignity. He does not want you to see."

The tears were gathering and they began to spill as I screamed at her. "He does too! Let me see him! Erik! _Erik_!"

I pounded on the door and twisted the knob, but it was locked. The floor disappeared from under my feet and I sank to my knees, sobbing. He was dying...leaving me...I would never hear his music, or feel his long, slender fingers, and he would never kiss me again. My cries echoed around the silent hall; the door would not budge, no matter how much I beat at it.

"Erik!" I choked out. "Please! Don't leave me!"

I did not notice Madame leave and return with a glass of water. She gripped me by the arms and pulled me upright, firmly shoving the glass into my hands.

"Drink this."

"No!" I cried, flinging it away. "I don't want to sleep! I need to see him...please, just let me see him!"

I fell once again; my head pounded and my stomach was clenching painfully. The aching feeling of emptiness stole across me. Nothing mattered anymore...Everyone left at sometime. Nothing was forever.

Suddenly Madame was back again with another glass. "Drink this," she said, putting the new glass into my hand. "Drink this, and I will let you see Erik."

I quieted a bit. "Do you promise?" I whispered hoarsely, raising the glass to my lips.

"I promise."

The glass was drained amazingly fast. I stood by the door expectantly, and the drug was already weaving its effect. My head spun faster, but I had to see him...The door opened. I fell to the floor sluggishly, fighting against the sleepiness that was overpowering me. And there he stood; his tall, menacing figure, swathed in black, with his glowing eyes and black mask perfectly in place. I clutched the folds of his cloak.

"Erik." I smiled groggily. "You're not dead."

With that the drug completely took hold of me and my husband was soon lost from view.


	36. Going Back

**Sorry for the delay. A disconnected internet added with a lack of time and inspiration does not mix well. As you're reading this, please be aware that this chapter was very difficult to write, and I know it isn't my best. So, be gentle. Please. ::sniffles::**

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**Going Back**

The first thing I was aware of when I woke up was the wonderful smell. The scent wafted around me and I breathed deeply; it was the smell of baking bread, something that I hadn't had the pleasure of breathing in since...I don't remember. My stomach growled a bit, and it took some time before I was aware of my other surroundings. The next thing I noticed was that I was in a different bed. This bed was smaller than my old one, and the coverlet smelled different. I panicked and wrenched my eyes open, but closed them quickly and threw the blanket over my head with a loud gasp of pain. The bright, blinding light had seared my eyes.

"Close the curtains!" I heard someone hiss. "Quickly!"

A sound of swishing fabric filled the room for a few seconds, and then I felt someone sit on the edge of the mattress. They took my hand; the hand was large and very warm.

"Christine?"

The voice was so familiar...

"Christine, can you hear me?"

If only I could remember...

"It's Raoul, Christine."

Of course! I opened my eyes very slowly and saw his bright blue eyes looking concerned, peering into mine. He gave a shaky laugh and squeezed my hand.

"How...how are you?"

I could understand his slight hesitation. What do you say to someone who has been missing for four years? I gave a slight, noncommittal jerk of my head, which made it throb. I did not want to think, for fear of making my head ache, but I did. If I was with Raoul, that had to mean I was back in New York somewhere...and that would mean that Erik...

I sat up sharply, wincing as my body protested, but ignored it. "What's happening?" I asked in a hoarse whisper. Raoul looked slightly puzzled.

"You're home, Christine. You're back."

"When?" I whispered, horrified. Where was Erik? I had seen him! He looked at me – he hadn't been dying. My breath quickened and I grabbed the blankets, gripping them so hard my knuckles turned pale.

"Just a few days ago. You woke up a few times, but you obviously don't remember. You kept saying something about 'Erik.' Are you all right, Christine?"

I was having trouble breathing and I gasped, trying to get enough air to my lungs. It was then that I noticed that a small crowd of people were in the room. They stepped slightly closer, their faces still shadowed. They reminded me of faceless demons, and I began to shiver, pulling the blankets up around my chin and scooting back into the headboard.

"Please," I whispered to Raoul. "Make them go away. Please."

Most of the people shuffled out. Everyone except one unfamiliar face, who hovered over me. He was an older man, with a silvery mustache and thick eyebrows.

"How are you feeling right now?" he asked kindly. "Do you hurt anywhere?"

"My head," I whimpered slightly. All I wanted to know was where Erik was.

"And that's all, Miss Daae?"

I had not heard Daae in such a long time. It took a second for me to realize he was addressing me; the drug was still making my head swim slightly. And so I nodded, trying to placate the man so he would go away. Raoul gave the doctor a significant look; they stood and walked to a corner, then began muttering together. My eyes were begging for sleep, but now that I was conscious I could not until I knew what was happening with Erik. Raoul and the other man returned a short time later, both of them looking rather grave. The man cut Raoul off and stood by the bedside, while Raoul, looking a bit ruffled, had to be content with watching.

"Miss Daae, we need to know if you were...touched in any way."

My head was pounding...I wanted sleep...But I wanted Erik more. His question confused my tired brain; of course he touched me. He had to touch me to lead me to the car, to correct my posture when I sang...And he touched me...I shivered delightfully at the memory.

"Miss Daae?" the man probed.

"Who are you?" He had no business asking me these questions! They were personal, private, and I did not have to give them out to anyone!

"This," Raoul said quickly, "is Doctor Balhorn. He's here to help you, Christine."

I didn't care if he was a doctor or an astronaut. I was not going to tell anyone, ever, about my relationship with Erik. So I shook my head. They were not convinced. The two poked and prodded, asking me the same questions over and over. I began to become frustrated and tried to explain myself.

"I...well, I just...please, don't – I don't want..."

The doctor withdrew. "She's obviously distressed, and suffering from posttraumatic stress. She needs more sleep."

This statement went completely over my head, and I watched as Raoul nodded and closed the door. He sat down on the edge of the bed and once again took my hand. He brought it to his lips and looked at me, smiling warmly.

"You have no idea how glad I am that you're back and safe." Then, with slight hesitation, he bent over and kissed my forehead. I let out a dry sob, rolled over, and fell into a fitful doze. Erik swam in and out of my dreams, always beyond my reach. And yet I was perfectly fine; I had seen him. He wasn't dead, and he would come for me. This was just one of his silly tricks. At least I prayed...

----

The smell of baking bread had slightly disappeared when I woke up again. My head was refreshingly clear and I had full control over my body. The first thing I immediately desired was a bath, and I crawled out of bed, intent on walking over to my bathroom, but the door wasn't there. Stopping short, I looked around, slightly panicked. I then saw that I had been dressed in comfortable pajamas. But there was no familiar wardrobe, no couch in the corner, no comfortable armchair...just a large bed and a few wooden chairs. And in one of those chairs Raoul was sleeping, his head lolled onto one side and his mouth slightly open. My heart gave a slight flutter; sweet, dear, loving Raoul. He was an arm's reach away. As my hand slightly rose, he jerked awake and looked at me. I blushed slightly, wondering if it was he that had changed my clothes.

"You're awake!" he said, springing to his feet. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I lied. My aching desire to see Erik was rather painful. I expected Raoul to demand the truth, something Erik had always done, but he gave a smile and walked over to me.

"I'm sure you want a shower and a change of clothes," he continued, leading me out of the room and into a pretty, bright hallway. Down a few doors he stopped and showed me to a door on the right, saying that it was the bathroom. He gave me a squeeze, muttering, "It's so good to have you home," and then left.

When I walked into the room and locked the door, I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I stripped and bathed mechanically, put on some new clothes that had been laid out for me, brushed and styled my hair, and emerged, quiet and stone-faced. Unsure of where to go, I wandered up and down the hall, blinking at the harsh, bright sunlight that seemed to spill from every room. Part of me expected to see Erik waiting in a room, intent on bringing me home. But no one was on the upper level. This irked me and I went back to my room, angry at Erik for leaving me for so long.

"Erik?" I called out uncertainly, keeping a wary eye on the door. "Erik, I want to go home now."

It was silent. I said it a bit louder. "Erik, I want to go home!" Although I waited for several tense, long minutes, no sound was heard. The tears started afresh. The only reason Erik would not come to me…because he didn't take me as soon as I wished…he was dead. I crumpled once again and sobbed, and I feel the tears starting once again. Nothing seemed to matter anymore; if Erik had died I was sure that I would, too. He was now part of me; his music had touched me in ways I didn't know possible, and now his music was gone with him. I had never wanted to be somebody else so badly. I wanted to escape, to have everything disappear. A part of me had been simply ripped out with no preliminaries, and I felt myself sink into crushing depression, my eyes wide open and yet being unable to see anything except my blind pain.

Raoul found me curled up in the bed, willing myself to fall asleep, and yet I was unable.

"Christine?" he gently prodded, seeing my eyes wide open. "Christine, are you ready to talk?"

I sat up slowly and looked at him. "Talk?" I repeated slowly.

"Well...you see, Christine, your kidnapping wasn't exactly unnoticed, and then when you were returned the other day...the papers had a field day. The police are here, and the press...they're waiting for you."

I paled; there was no possible way that I could tell the whole world what happened in the House over the last four years. My mouth became dry, and I begged, "Do I have to see them?"

"Well, I suppose you don't have to talk to the press...but you really should talk to the police."

I knew that I would eventually have to talk to the police; they would want to find out who kidnapped me. A humorless smile grew on my lips; Erik would not be found unless he wanted to...and Erik was dead. I refused to see the press, and Raoul shooed them out, though they hung around the front door, their cameras and pens ready. The interview with the police was horrible.

"And you never saw the house you were kept in?"

"No."

"You have no idea where it was?"

Before I could answer another policeman entered. He glanced nervously at Raoul and me before bending down to whisper something into the interviewer's ear. My stomach clenched slightly; this was very familiar, the way the man's face blanched and he stood jerkily.

"Thank you for your time, Miss Daae. I apologize for the inconvenience." The man glanced around anxiously and gathered his belongings.

Raoul's comforting hand on my shoulder clenched tightly. "Excuse me?"

The policemen looked at him. "Well – there was a...murder. Uptown. Got to go. Urgent. Thanks, folks."

"That's all?" Raoul countered quietly; I could tell he was trying to be polite, but the frustration was evident in his voice.

The men quickly left the house, shepherded by the eager press, their voices mingling and the cameras flashing. Raoul gave an exclamation of disgust.

"The officials in this city!" He looked down at me, his nostrils flared. "I'm so sorry, Christine. I'll have a word with someone and they'll come back for a full interview."

"It's fine, Raoul," I said quietly, closing my eyes. "I don't have anything more important to say to them."

"All the same, I'd feel much better knowing that they know everything you do." He sat down beside me and took my hand. I swallowed and forced myself to look back into his blue eyes, and it was one of the greatest struggles in my life not to simply burst into agonized sobs. To try to distract myself, I asked stupidly:

"When – when I came back...how...?"

Without another word, Raoul stood and walked over to the television. After rummaging in the cabinets for a few seconds he pulled out a disc and pushed it into the player.

"My brother recorded it for me," he explained. "I was there, watching for you. It was amazing to see you again." He settled by me as the tape came into play. I watched with a fascinated horror.

The cameramen were obviously having trouble getting through the mass of people. Civilians and officials alike were strewn up and down the sidewalk next to my shabby old apartment building. A man's voice came through.

"_Again_, _repeated for those who have just joined us_. _It appears that Christine Daae_, _missing for four years_, _has been found_, _unconscious_, _in her old apartment_. _Officials have neither confirmed nor denied anything pertaining to the case_, _though our crew is anxiously standing by for any sign of Daae_."

There was a small roar and the people moved closer, crowding around the doorway, while a strong male's voice rang through the air. "Make way! Come on, clear off! Let me through!"

The people backed up enough for the cameras to get a decent shot, and my stomach flipped as I saw myself being carried down the steps to a nearby ambulance. I looked dreadful; dark circles were under my eyes and I had never seen myself so disgustingly thin. My hair hung lank and spilled over the officer's arm. Obviously unconscious, I flopped about like a paper doll, my head lolling to one side, my arms thrown out on either side. Sitting by Raoul, my cheeks burned and I shifted uncomfortably.

A small scuffle broke off at the side, and I saw Raoul push his way through the crowds, shouting mixed insults along with my name. His face was pale and drawn and he, too, had darkness under his eyes, which did not hold as much youthfulness as they had before.

"Excuse me, excuse me," he snapped impatiently. The cameras angled in on his face, and I glanced at the real thing to find an embarrassed grin on his lips. The Raoul on the television approached the officer, staring at my pale face as though hardly daring to believe his eyes.

"Hello," he said breathlessly to the officer. "I'm Raoul de Chagny. This...this is Christine."

The people around him laughed, and so did the one sitting next to me. The Raoul on the screen continued.

"I'm sure you've heard of my interest in the case. Before she disappeared, Christine and I were...together." He looked down at me once more, a small smile breaking onto his lips. "Please, sir, may I just – may I carry her?"

The police officer, after a small, obvious battle in his mind, carefully handed my body over to Raoul, who took me as if I was made of glass. My heart filled with emotion and my eyes with tears at the way he so lovingly gathered my arms up and held me against his chest.

"She's so light," he laughed nervously, and he and the man quickly made their way to the ambulance. The vehicle drove away quickly, its lights flashing, and the screen flickered to black.

"What happened next?" I asked hoarsely, staring at the black television.

"We took you to the hospital. You were dehydrated and needed some food in you, and after a while I got a release for you to come and stay with us at my brother's estate."

All of my questions still had not been answered. "You – you said we were together." I swallowed harshly. "We weren't. You stopped calling."

"No!" He took my hand quickly. "No, I didn't! The recording said your phone was disconnected, and I tried forever. I didn't stop until you were taken. Did you think I would have ended it so quickly?"

I looked at him slowly, and his eyes were so fervent and truthful that all I could do was agree with him.

"Christine, I know this is soon. But I – I still love you, even after all of these years. I just have to let you know that. No matter what you feel, I'll always help you in any way I can."

I let out a muffled sob and covered my mouth quickly to try to hold back more that threatened to emerge. Raoul put a hand on my back, trying to comfort me, yet it was rather fruitless. "Please – give me a few weeks, Raoul, please, and I'll see then."

He gave me a squeeze. "A few weeks, then."

----

Those two weeks went by much too quickly. By the end of them I still did not care for Raoul the same way I cared for Erik. It was painful to even think of Erik's name, so I tried to keep myself busy. I read everything I could get my hands on, worked in the beautiful gardens constantly, and took up cooking as a hobby. While at Erik's, (am I forever doomed to compare my new life with my old one?) my meals were always prepared to perfection for me. I enjoyed the satisfaction that came from creating dishes with my own hands. Although it took quite a bit of time to master everything, I took pleasure in seeing the mistakes in the meals. They reminded me of my reality.

There were many good things about this life, I told myself. I could now go outside whenever I pleased. None of the doors were locked. Shopping and driving were opened up to me once more. But these did not compensate for my loss. Nothing ever would. I was not happy. Raoul would often find me crying quietly in the corner of some room and I, blushing furiously, would quickly excuse myself before he could ask anything. I tried to be cheerful; I tried to be content; I tried to be at peace. And yet I knew I never would be.

When the two weeks were up, when Erik had not yet come for me, I did the worst thing imaginable – I tried to take the cowardly way out. I filled up the sink with warm water and stared at it for the longest time, trying to build up enough motivation. The thought of being with Erik once again was enough, and I plunged my face into the water. It calmed slowly, lapping the side of my face. My brain and lungs screamed for air, and yet I would not rise. I felt myself slowly lose focus, and the last thought in the sink was of Erik.

Suddenly I was violently pulled out of the water, gasping and panting, my hair and face dripping. I screamed at Raoul and tried to hit him, but he pinned my arms under my chest as he hugged me, crying.

"Christine, what's happened to you? Please, for your sake, tell me!"

I broke down in his arms. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry. I never deserved him – how could I?"

He let me sob for quite a while, stroking my hair, and yet I was not unaware of how he stiffened when I called myself unworthy of Him.

"Darling, I think you may want to consider...help," Raoul said gently. I looked at him, my eyes wide with horror. "No!" he corrected himself hastily. "It isn't as bad as you think. Someone to confide in, something completely confidential, who can help you with your problems."

"My 'problems'?" I whispered, my eyes narrowing. I obviously wasn't in the happiest of moods.

"You're depressed, Christine," Raoul went on desperately, seizing my arms. "You need to be happy again! You need to smile and laugh and sing like you used to."

My heart stopped beating on its own and I tore my arms from his grasp. "I will _never _sing again as long as I live," I hissed.

He looked abashed. "But you love to sing."

Shaking my head frantically, I feigned tiredness and went to my room to collect myself. I could not sing, not without him. The world seemed to come crashing down on me once again, and I grabbed the pillows and sobbed into them pitifully.

That night, Erik came to me in a dream. It was the happiest I had ever felt in the longest time. He promised he had made it to heaven and that God was letting him visit me one more time.

"_The real reason I am here_, _darling child_," _he said seriously_, "_is to have you promise me something_."

"_Anything_!" _I responded automatically_.

"_Forget about me_," _he said severely_. "_Forget I existed_. _Marry that boy_. _Be happy_, _Christine_."

I remember protesting angrily, and he grabbed my wrists and looked into my eyes. I felt my knees buckle.

"_If_..._if you ever felt something for me_..._forget_."

"_No _– "

"_Promise me_!" _he growled_, _shaking me slightly_. _I did quickly_, _closing my eyes and reveling in his presence_.

He then sang to me, and I fell asleep happily, though I woke glum. To be separated, and then to be so near again, even in a dream...To make matters more difficult, Raoul cornered me at the breakfast table.

"Christine, we need to talk," he said gently, yet there was the obvious tone of seriousness in his voice. I set down my fork and looked at him expectantly.

"I need your answer," he burst out. "I need to know if this can still work. Otherwise, I don't want to be..._pursuing_ this if it's impossible. I've waited for you for four years, and now..."

"You don't want to waste your time," I said bluntly.

He looked uncomfortable. "Well...yes, to be frank." He gave a small smile. "After all this time, I think I might get it if you don't feel the same way."

I nodded and thought quietly. Decisions..._decisions_...I hated them all. But I had promised Erik. I had promised him to forget, to move on. Giving another flickering glance at Raoul, I did consider my feelings. His love and devotion was obvious...the way he carried me, the way he had cared for me during these few weeks, the way he was desperately looking at me now. I knew it was no love like Erik's, but it was pure and sweet, untainted by the hate of men. I am getting quite poetic now, aren't I? To dispense with the sentiments, I will just continue.

"I...I do care for you, Raoul," I said softly, staring at my lap. "And I do want to be married." There were other reasons, too...

A loud laughter burst out, and I looked up, amazed, as he leapt to his feet, sweeping me up and kissing me tenderly. Later that night I was overwhelmed with guilt.

How _dare _I marry Raoul, merely one month after returning? How can I simply forget everything that happened? It wasn't like a bad dream that left you startled, yet wasn't real; this _was _real. It happened. Almost without knowing it, I rose from my bed and walked down the hall. With a soft, almost unheard knock, I entered Raoul's bedroom. It was a boring room, with no sign of permanent residence, and I remembered that this was his brother's house, so this must have been another guest room.

"Raoul?" I whispered softly, standing at the foot of his bed, rather like a child after a bad night's sleep. I saw him stir slightly.

"Raoul?"

He sat up, squinting. "Christine? What is it?"

"I can't sleep," I whispered. "And I wanted to talk to you. Could I...?"

"Of course!" he said quickly. I nestled myself in his arms, taking comfort in his warm embrace. He smelled so different than Erik. Raoul's scent was more standard; a mixture of cologne and other things, while Erik smelled like...Erik.

"What is it?" Raoul asked again, putting a hand in my hair. You must understand, journal, that paper is not enough! You don't give me advice, you don't cry with me, you simply absorb everything I put into you without any emotion whatsoever. So you must not think it a disgrace that I sobbed in his arms that night. Oh, I did not tell him everything. I confessed quite a bit more than I would have liked, but nothing pertaining to my relationship with Erik.

"How can I just forget and marry you?" I cried into his shoulder. "It's only been one month! It...it isn't as easy as everyone makes it out to be. I can't simply just wake up one morning with four years of my life gone from my mind. And it was so scary, Raoul. I couldn't...I can't...this can't happen to me!"

Raoul rubbed my back softly and comforted me in the most loving way. "Maybe," he said softly, "you don't have to just forget. It was horrendous and terrifying, and yet you can't wallow in that, Christine. It – it will destroy you. Remember, but move on."

And that was what made it worthwhile to go to Raoul. I smiled, the first real smile in weeks, and my tears subsided slowly.

"Are you all right now?" Raoul asked quietly. He stifled a yawn and kissed the top of my head.

"I feel a bit better," I admitted truthfully. Although I wasn't completely happy and content, I did feel good knowing that I did not have to just forget, now matter what I said to Erik. I thanked Raoul and crawled out of his embrace and back into my own bed, where I slowly fell into a fitful sleep.


	37. With You

**With You**

Walking down the aisle one month later was much harder than I had ever dreamed. It was a beautifully decorated chapel, and people stuffed themselves into the pews. I did not know any of them, as they were all Raoul's relatives and friends. I constantly got cold feet, making a new decision every day. Betrayal and guilt overwhelmed me when I was not busy with wedding plans, and those were the times when I considered running...somewhere. And that was why I so busily engaged myself in discussing every detail, helping Raoul's mother with nearly everything; I tried to keep my mind occupied with other things.

It was completely obvious that Raoul's family did not hold me in much respect.

"You have caused our family quite a bit of grief," my future mother-in-law said lightly, thumbing through a book of sample tablecloths and avoiding my eye.

"Mother!" Raoul gasped, entering with an armload of paper.

Hot shame swept through me, and my eyes and face burned. "Excuse me," I whispered, hurrying over to the door.

"Thanks, mother," I heard Raoul say coldly to her, and he caught up with me, stopping my flight with a crushing hug. "Don't listen to her," he muttered into my hair.

"But it's true!" I cried into his chest. Someone else entered the room, yet I could not care less and continued. "You wasted four years of your life just waiting...What if I had never come back? Would you have waited?"

The person that had entered the room laughed. "Of course not! Even Raoul was finally beginning to think you were dead."

I felt him stiffen and let out a string of unintelligible words, which ended with him hissing, "Philippe!"

"Well, it's true," his brother said, shrugging nonchalantly and sitting down in the nearby armchair, snapping his paper open and disappearing behind it. Raoul took my hand and led me out of the room, his face red and his mouth thin.

"Christine – " he began, but I stopped him.

"I don't blame you. I was gone for a long time...it was natural for everyone to think I was dead. And I'm glad you waited for that long."

A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "When I saw you at the opera it gave me a kind of charge. I knew he wouldn't kill you. He was too possessive; I saw it, the way he held your arm and led you down the hall..." Raoul's eyes seemed to burn with a smoldering hatred, and I shivered, wishing for him to stop, but he continued.

"He called you his 'wife,' Christine. How – what – ?"

I could not see a way to convincingly squirm out of answering this, so I tried. "He..." I swallowed, feeling a lump rise. "He forced me to..."

Raoul looked horrified. "So he _did_...he actually did? Even after what you said – ?"

My face burned. "No, he didn't. He was actually very kind to me, Raoul, an absolute gentleman when it came to what I wanted. When I asked him not to, he complied. He gave me everything I wanted." I buried my face in my hands, overcome by memories and emotions, and trembled pathetically.

"I don't understand. Why, then, did he take you in the first place?"

I never expected Raoul to understand. To understand how I felt, what I felt, one has to go through my ordeal. And, trust me, no one should. Nothing will ever be the same.

"He...he loved me." My face burned and I forced my gaze to Raoul, who looked a bit disgusted.

"He loved you," my fiancé repeated.

"Yes."

Raoul looked very skeptical. "The way he touched you, how he wrenched you around, how he...almost killed me...And he 'loved' you?"

My temper flared briefly; Erik had many faults, but he loved me to the point of obsession! This was something Raoul would, and could, never understand. He seemed to love me, too, but Erik's love...it was frighteningly passionate.

"He did," I said coldly. We fell silent as footsteps passed by the room, and resumed only when it was completely silent.

"Did you ever see his face?" Raoul asked me seriously. I remembered, with a squeak of fright, the day when I took off his mask; how he had hurt me, how I had hurt him. There was a tense silence.

"No," I finally said.

He was disappointed. "Nothing?"

I resisted glaring at him. "Once I tried...it was scary; I have never seen anyone that angry. I didn't try again."

After an embarrassed apology, Raoul checked his watch. "My mother should be gone now; some stupid gossip circle with a friend. Would you like to go finish?"

I nodded; this small conversation had actually taken a great deal of weight off, and I found myself enjoying Raoul's company for one of the first times since returning. He was so sweet and very light-hearted; my old feelings stirred, and I remembered the untroubled days four years ago.

"How about this one?" he said, grinning and showing me a truly hideous shade of orange. I stuck out my tongue and wrinkled my nose.

"What?" he exclaimed, seemingly offended. "I liked it!"

We laughed and spent the rest of the afternoon picking out the ugliest napkins, tablecloths, drapes, and flower bouquets. When his mother returned, though, the mood fell.

"You haven't accomplished anything!" she snapped, her matching yellow sunhat trembling on her head. Raoul gave me a sideways glance and snorted. His mother sighed loudly.

"Honestly, dear, I still do not think you're ready for marriage." She said this with the slightest touch of hope in her voice, and my small smile vanished. "You can always wait, you know. Maybe see a few different people. Alice has a daughter around your age – "

Raoul stood suddenly, cutting her off. "Margaret de Chagny, I am marrying Christine Daae in a month's time, and _nothing _you can say will stop that. So I suggest you simply accept this and stop that stupid scheming."

His mother looked flabbergasted and was silent as Raoul motioned for me to follow him. I did, gladly, and he walked upstairs, his strides long and agitated, not stopping until we were in front of my room.

"Christine, I am so sorry," he said softly. "She takes a while to accept new people. So does my brother..." He gave a grin. "My sisters, on the other hand, will absolutely fawn over you. They love small, pretty things."

I managed a small smile, just to try and placate him. "Thank you for everything, Raoul. I...I don't know what I would have done without you."

He hugged me and let me go to my room, where I collapsed onto the bed, wanting to sob, and yet I was much too tired. I slept wonderfully that night.

----

Long walks became my favorite pastime. After lunch I would throw on a light jacket and head outdoors. To where, I had no idea. I simply enjoyed the crisp air and the changing colors of the leaves. Each day I walked a bit farther, finding myself growing healthier from breathing in fresh, pure air and warming my blood. To my delighted surprise, I soon stumbled upon a small family park. Raoul's brother did not live in New York City, but a few hours north, and it was good to start afresh in a smaller town. Walking around the park aimlessly, my hands in my pockets, I watched silently as mothers shepherded their young children around. Once, a plump-cheeked little boy with the bluest eyes I have ever seen ran up behind me and tugged on my coat.

"Mama!" was the brusque voice that issued from his little lips. I turned around and smiled. He backed away, looking quite heartbroken. A woman with eyes to match his marched up and took his hand. To try to cover the awkwardness, I offered her a smile. She looked at me for a moment, then her lips curled, and she walked away without saying a word. As I walked back, trying to swallow the tears, I realized what had caused the mother's behavior. Contrary to Raoul's belief and hope, I was not unaware of what the press had written about me. I tried to push it away, but the shame and loneliness was quite unbearable at times. Soon, however, it all died down. I became old news, and it was much easier to go places.

The wedding grew closer, and my walks became longer. I spent whole afternoons simply walking around and around the park, not returning home until after dinner. Raoul asked if he could accompany me many times, and I allowed him to once or twice, but it was never as meaningful as it was when I was alone. Soon he stopped asking, seeing that it was my time to reflect and to think, and I was grateful. Then something incredible happened.

It was getting late, and most people were leaving for the night. I had no desire to leave, so I began to make another circle around the park. The sun was sinking behind the colorful trees, and I knew Raoul worried about me when I stayed out past dark. Just as I was about to turn around and head home, a man stepped right in front of me. A startled gasp jumped from my lips, and I took a few steps back.

"Please," he said quietly. "It's all right. I've been asked to give this to you."

He took a step closer and a small streak of sunlight fell onto his face. He was young, probably only a few years younger than I, with darkly curled hair and brown eyes. I had never seen him before in my life, so I eyed him warily, my legs ready to spring into action. The man, however, simply pulled a book-sized package and held it out to me. Making no move to take it, I questioned:

"What is it?"

"To be honest, I've no idea," he admitted. "I was just told to give it to you."

"By whom?"

A small smile stole across his face. "I'm going to set it on this bench. If you want it, just pick it up." With slow, deliberate movements, he walked over to the wooden bench nearby, set the package down, and stepped back. Without another word, he turned around, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strolled away leisurely, whistling. When he was no longer visible, I walked over to the package warily and picked it up. It was relatively heavy, but not unbearably so. After shaking it a few times, I ripped it open. An envelope fell out and fluttered to the ground. Snatching it before the wind could carry it away, I squinted at the small word. _Christine_.

I knew that handwriting...

With a sob I tore it open, letting the box fall to the ground with a _thump_. To my dismay, the light was so poor I could hardly make out the first sentence. I gathered the parcel on the ground and hurried back to the house, the letter clutched fiercely against my violently pounding heart. The door creaked slightly as I opened it, and I stole in as quietly as I could, having no wish at all to be questioned. As quietly and quickly as my feet could manage, I made it to my bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind me. Trembling so badly I almost ripped the letter in half, I began to read.

_My darling Christine,_

_Alas, the bliss I have enjoyed for that short period of life could never have lasted. Fate has never been kind to me, my dear, and so I dared not to think that it would be this time. My death will not come as a surprise to me, and I write this in hopes that you will learn to forget all about your Erik_._ It is only a question of when this will be found that concerns me, but I am confident that you shall receive it_.

_I was never meant to hold a woman in my arms, but the love you have shown me has taught me many things on life. Things even _I_ did not know. I have experienced all joy life has to offer_, _and leave with the full experience of mortality_.

_Do not dwell on me, Christine_._ It would not do for either of us_._ I do not deserve to be remembered by anyone, especially someone as breathtaking as you. I wish you to marry someone that deserves you – though I must admit I hardly believe anyone does. Once I wished for you to be mine and mine alone. Now that I know it is impossible for us to be together for always, I wish for your happiness only. Please, darling, find someone_.

_Lie to them_. _They will not understand it any other way_._ Even as much as it pains me to instruct you to do so, it will be much easier for you_._ Do not go into details, Christine_._ A few tears would help. You are quite talented in that performance_.

_Do not weep for me_._ I was never worth a single one of your tears. I caused many. It pains me greatly to think that I caused you many sleepless nights of fear and terror_._ I was terrified to approach you like a normal man. Mankind was never compassionate towards me. I was stupid enough to think you would be the same_._ Taking you was the only way I knew how. I do believe I ruined your life, Christine Daae_. _Worry not_._ When you read this I shall be gone forever_._ By your reaction I shall see what to do with my afterlife_.

_You have given me life. I was dead before I saw your face. A living shadow of a man, skulking around the earth, and your clear innocence gave me a sudden burst of oxygen. This world is a horrible, disgusting place, and you were a magnificent flower in the midst of a wasteland. I am a selfish man. I plucked you from the midst and carried you home to keep by my side for what I hoped would be forever_.

_I love you_._ I have never felt any emotion as strong as I have while simply being by your side_._ Hate, grief, jealousy…nothing can compare to love. I have now done everything I set out to achieve in my life. It is over now. You have given me everything I could not attain by myself_._ Once again, do not weep for me_.

_Erik_

But I did weep. I had never though it possible for someone to shed so many tears in a lifetime as I have in mine. In a matter of minutes I had read the letter over and over, and in a considerably short time I had it memorized. Everywhere I go, this letter goes with me. Even now it is pressed against my heart. After hours simply pouring over this beautiful letter, I remembered the package that I had unceremoniously discarded on the bed. A gasp of surprise escaped as I tore open the paper and found my journal, bound neatly in an emblazoned cover, which read _Christine_. While at Erik's, it had merely been a messy stack of papers, and I ran my fingers over the smooth exterior many times. During the confusion of being returned, I had all but forgotten my memoirs, and then, when I remembered that I had left them, it did sadden me. As I clutched it to my breast, a note fell out of the pages.

_I enclose this in hope that it will give you some comfort_. _Yes_, _I was highly aware you kept a journal_, _though never made any real effort in discovering it_. _I thought_, _for once in my miserable life_, _I should respect your privacy_.

I reread my journal again that night. Surprisingly, it did give me some comfort. Only when I looked at the calendar did my face fall; there was less than one month till I would be married.

----

The three weeks passed by in a blur. Raoul's mother was sullen and irritable and avoided me; I did all I could to encourage this action. A week before the wedding, Raoul's two sisters appeared on the doorstep. They were both older than I, and the elder, Nicolette, had children of her own, yet when the three of us were alone, they acted like teenage girls, giggling and gossiping over the silliest things. I had not been in a situation like this in the longest time, so I sat, smiling uncomfortably, while they "oohed" and "aahed" over the dress I had bought the previous day.

"Christine, you're too quiet!" Arian said sternly. "You haven't told us anything!"

"What is there to tell?" I asked politely. The two gave each other furtive looks and giggled.

"You know..." Nicolette grinned.

"I always thought Raoul would be horrible," Arian said thoughtfully. "He's so calm and nice all of the time. No – " She clawed the air and let out what was supposedly a growl.

Finally understanding what they were talking about, a blush inflamed me. "We...we haven't," I said, seeing their eager faces, which turned to disbelief.

"Hmm, that suits him," Nicolette scoffed. She then shrugged and the two of them began to decide how I should wear my hair and what jewelry would match. I was starting to get a headache and closed my eyes as they started debating over what I should wear the night of.

"I have this nice, silky gown."

"No, it would drown her, she's too tiny. But I have a negligee that would be perfect."

"If she's going to wear a negligee, she needs one of her own. I know! Let's all go downtown and shop!"

I didn't think I could handle this and excused myself. They didn't seem to notice, now happily fighting over what color would look best with my skin tone. I nearly ran into Philippe in my haste.

"Sorry," I gasped quickly.

He gave a cold glance at me and then to the door, where his sisters' voices could be heard. After rolling his eyes, he said, "They're at it again. A word of advice: don't go back in there."

Without another word he strode off imperiously. I was wandering aimlessly, avoiding everyone I could and trying not to think, when I saw Raoul through his opened bedroom door. I entered quietly, watching him think. He was really very handsome, with soft blond hair that fell with a casual elegance, a straight nose, deep blue eyes, and a finely sculpted mouth. Suddenly, I wished he was ugly. I wanted him to have thin, dark hair, golden eyes, slight, shapeless lips and no nose. Almost desperately, I walked over and wrapped my arms around him, willing myself to open my eyes and find Erik sitting there, giving me a bemused look, reading a book in German, with his long legs situated comfortably underneath him.

But it was only Raoul, looking outside, reading no book, his blue eyes sparkling.

"Have they driven you crazy?" he laughed. "I'm sorry for letting them be alone with you. Once they start they just can't stop." He sat up a little straighter. "But I have good news! We're going to Paris!"

He said this as if hoping to excite me, but I felt the blood drain out of my face.

"Paris?" I repeated quietly.

He nodded. "For our honeymoon," he explained, frowning. "What's wrong? You don't want to go?"

Paris. I felt dread bud in my chest. "Please, can't we go somewhere else? Anywhere else?"

He looked a bit disappointed. "If you really want to...Philippe has a friend who has an estate in Italy..."

"Yes!" I exclaimed. "Yes, Italy would be perfect. Just not Paris, please."

"All right, Christine, if you really want to."

I gave a nod and we fell into a silence before Raoul broke it, saying, "I'll go get those two out of your room so you can sleep."

----

The week seemed to slip beneath my fingers, no matter how desperately I grabbed at the time. The day before the wedding found my mother-in-law frantically making last-minute phone calls, checking the guest list, making sure the chapel had been booked properly, and all sorts of last-minute details. Raoul and I sat in the dining room, listening to her voice rise shrilly. It sounded as if the caterer had been planning on serving the wrong kind of wine. Raoul rolled his eyes and grinned at me. I, however, frowned.

"I feel horrible," I confessed suddenly. "I haven't paid for any of this! And the bride's family usually pays for the wedding." My face burned.

"Don't worry about it, Christine," Raoul answered soothingly. "It isn't a big deal. Besides, we are your only family." I suppose it was meant to sound reassuring, but it made me even more upset.

"Your mother is very angry," I said quietly.

Raoul laughed. "You're worried about my mother? She'll accept it...just not right away, I'm sure. And she would be acting this way if I got married to a girl she chose; she doesn't want to see me move away, since I'm the youngest."

I gave a tiny nod, not completely convinced, and listened as Margaret banged about the kitchen, trying to find a number.

"Christine, she is a perfectionist," Raoul went on, seeing my discomfort. "She needs everything to work smoothly, and not for her own benefit. Her friends are...judgmental, to put it lightly."

We were interrupted by Arian, who was carrying Nicolette's two-year old son. "What are you still doing here?" she demanded Raoul, who looked confused. "You can't be here tonight!" She impatiently adjusted her nephew on her hip and continued. "Spend the night at my house; it's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding, and we don't want to take any chances."

Raoul heaved a sigh and stood up in defeat. "Fine, fine. I know there won't be any way to persuade you otherwise. Christine..." He looked at me, his blue eyes shining, and I felt so guilty that I was tempted to get up and run away, away from the sorrow. Raoul swallowed and tried to speak a few times, but nothing came out.

"Goodnight," he finally blurted, and he left the room quickly.

Later that night I did my routine for bed. As I was turning down the sheets, familiar prickles on the back of my neck made me stand straight up, looking around frantically.

"Erik?" I whispered breathlessly. It was silent. Holding my breath, I walked slowly around the room, though I knew I would not be able to find him unless he revealed himself to me. "Erik?" I repeated, my excitement slowly dripping away. The tingle that had been running down my spine ceased, and I fell, heaving with disappointment, onto the bed. My fragile happiness shattered, and the pain was so fresh and raw that I wanted to rip out my very heart. I could not trick myself into thinking that Erik could be only a happy memory; I wanted – I _needed _– him to be more.

Slight pattering reached my ears, and I looked up to see rain starting to fall. It cried with me, a slight trickle entering the room through the open balcony door and soaking a patch of carpet. Erik had told me once that he loved rain; after a beautiful, yet violent, storm, everything seemed so fresh and alive afterwards. I stumbled towards the balcony, ignoring the chill that crept into the room. My tears mingled with the rain, and I let the water envelop me. As I took another step, I slipped on the surface and clutched the guardrail desperately, sinking down onto the cold wood, shaking with sobs that even I could not hear.

I do not know how long I stayed like that, huddled on the wet balcony, weeping pathetically, before Nicolette came in. She gave a small cry and pulled me out of the rain, shutting and latching the balcony door firmly behind us.

"What are you doing? You'll catch your death!" A warm nightgown was thrown at me. "Get out of your wet clothes, hurry!" I waited for her to leave so I could switch clothes, but she did not. Finally, she impatiently walked over.

"What are you, five? We're both girls." She pulled the sopping wet gown over my head and pulled the new one on. I blushed fiercely, feeling extremely childish. The tears had not stopped and I quietly watched her turn up the heater.

"Now, what were you thinking, exactly?" she asked again, turning around. Seeing my tears, she stopped short. "Oh. Oh, Christine," she said softly, pulling me into a motherly embrace. This tenderness and parental-like love was overwhelming, and I sobbed into her shoulder, making no resistance as she sat us down on the bed and stroked my hair.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong, Christine?" Nicolette asked gently.

"How can I do this to him?" I burst out after a minute. "He made me promise...but I can't! I can't forget! And poor Raoul...how does he put up with me?" I stopped short, overcome with fresh sobs. Nicolette did not understand what I meant, I know, but she did not ask further questions.

"Christine, listen to me," she commanded softly. "You have every right to be the way you are right now. Only you know all that happened when you disappeared, and you don't have to tell anybody. You don't _have_ to, but you should. It would make you feel better."

I shook my head frantically. "I can't...nobody would understand. They weren't there; they don't know how strange and wonderful it was, how his music seemed to guide me, how much he loved me."

Now, with a clear mind, I know that I would not have revealed that much had I been given that moment back. But Nicolette was so understanding, so loving and compassionate, that I could not help myself. She let me cry uninterrupted for endless minutes, and eventually they subsided into small whimpers.

"Do you feel better?" she asked kindly.

I nodded and hiccupped slightly. A small smile escaped as I remembered the time Erik had scared away my hiccups.

"There you go," Nicolette said encouragingly. "You should sleep, Christine. You have a big day tomorrow."

"Thank you," I said quietly as she stood up. "Very much."

She laughed. "We're family. It's the least I could do. Goodnight, Christine."

When she made it to the door I called out one more time. "Wait! Don't...don't tell Raoul," I begged. "Please."

"I wasn't planning to."

----

I sat upright in bed, panting and shaking. After peering at the clock next to the bed, I realized there was only thirteen hours until I would be married. My mouth became extremely dry, and I swallowed a few times before finally giving up and heading downstairs. After at last finding the light switches in the kitchen, I looked around hopelessly. There were quite a few cupboards lining the wall and spreading out underneath the sink. Giving a small sigh, I began my search, my head pounding slightly as it always does after I cry. There was a small noise and I whirled around, a small cry of fright escaping my lips.

A blush began as I saw Philippe standing in the doorway, wearing a grey robe over his pajamas.

"S – sorry," I muttered. "I just wanted a glass of water."

He took a few steps towards the fridge. "How about some milk instead?"

Taken aback, I thanked him politely and watched as he pulled out the carton, easily located two clean glasses, and poured the milk to the brim. This was...very different from the Philippe to which I had become accustomed. He yawned widely, shoved the milk back into the fridge, and sat down across from me.

"Couldn't sleep either?" he grumbled.

I nodded and sipped the milk nervously before hurriedly saying, "Thank you very much for letting me stay here."

He gave a jerk of his head and sighed. "I should be thanking you, Christine."

"What?" I almost spit milk everywhere and hurriedly set the glass down a safe distance away. Philippe would not look me in the eye as he continued.

"For Raoul. I've never seen him so happy. When you disappeared, he was...devestated, to say the least. It was a bit annoying, actually. I didn't think he cared for you that much. And, when you hadn't returned after four years, I tried to convince him that you were dead. He started to believe me. It was horrible, the way he spoke and acted around everyone." He finally looked up from his glass. "The change was incredible when you came back. I have never seen him happier than he is right now. He – he loves you, Christine."

I swallowed. "I know."

A pregnant pause followed, and Philippe stood up. "Goodnight," he said gruffly, and left hurriedly. I cleaned up the glasses and returned to my room, now wide-awake. It was incredible, the feeling that filled me. How could I be loved by both of these men? I was unworthy of their attention; they both could have done so much better. It was hard to comprehend, as I was nothing special. I spent the next few hours sitting over this question, staring at the floor and watching sunlight slowly and gradually stain the carpet. It smelled wonderful; the rain seemed to rejuvenate the earth, and I breathed deeply, letting the air calm my nerves.

There was a loud knock on the door. "Christine? Are you awake? Today's the day!"

Nicolette entered, followed by Arian. Nicolette hugged me gently.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"Better," I said truthfully. "Thank you again."

She nodded as Arian called out, "I filled up the tub. Hurry, we're going to be late!"

Hours flew away; I hardly had time to think about what I was doing. Nicolette and Arian were running everywhere, shoving things into my hands, pulling at my hair, and generally battering me about.

"Here, eat this," Arian said, putting a banana in my hand. "It helps. Besides, you don't want to eat anything more. Everyone feels sick before their wedding."

To be honest, I did feel a little queasy, especially when they pulled the wedding dress over me. I looked down. It was different than the dress Erik had given me, and a lot less pretty. It seemed very extravagant, a mass of ribbons, lace, and bows. For a second I wondered what on earth had possessed me to get it. Arian and Nicolette, however, stepped back and gave a big sigh.

"She's so pretty," Arian said dreamily. I blushed and quietly stood while they sat me down and attacked my face with makeup. It hurt quite a bit, the way they pinched and pulled. I was grateful when they stepped back, but they weren't done.

"What about her hair?"

"I called for an appointment, but they were full!" Arian wailed.

After a few minutes Nicolette had forced Arian to run upstairs and grab, by the sound of it, a rather expensive clip of their mother's. Ignoring my protests, Arian furtively darted through the door and back downstairs, clutching the hairpiece to her breast protectively.

"Don't worry, Christine," Nicolette assured me, putting it into my hair. "I'll tell my mother that we forced you to put it on."

To save my hand, I shall simply say that the next hour was spent doing touchups, and the next hour was spent getting everyone to the chapel. I waited, terrified, in a small room, pacing back and forth, chewing on my lip. Erik would not leave my mind.

"Please," I whispered insanely. "Don't do this to me...you made me promise! I've tried so hard...I can't bear to look at you now." I shut my eyes fiercely, willing myself not to cry. The door creaked open softly, and I turned quickly.

"Christine?" Arian said softly, opening the door wider. "It's time."

I choked slightly and took a few jerky steps towards the door. Arian took my hand to steady me, and we slowly made our way towards the chapel. My other hand came to a rest on my heart, by which Erik's worn letter was resting.

Arian tried to comfort me by whispering words that did not make me even glance at her. I suppose I should be more sympathetic; she tried very hard, but it was standard advice, something every mother or sister would give her kin before a wedding. I was silently praying for strength to not flee out the door the minute I stepped into the aisle. Taking a deep breath, I tried to wipe my mind clean.

We stopped in front of the doors. Philippe suddenly appeared, and I felt my stomach flip. Since I had no father or other family, Raoul's brother had grudgingly agreed to escort me. Arian hugged me, whispered "Good luck," and was gone. I thought I was going to faint and leaned heavily on Philippe's arm.

Erik, what would you have said to me? What if you had been there, next to me, watching as I took the steps that would make me someone else's wife? Would you have intervened, even after all that had happened? You did not, Erik. You did not stop me. You did nothing as I faced Raoul and said, "I do." You did nothing.

But am I completely going insane? You are dead! I never thought death could stop you, Erik. I suppose I was wrong; Raoul and I flew to Italy that afternoon, and still you did not come. Nothing stopped us...You did not come.

And yet I still love you, Erik. I love you more than music itself, for you _are _music, and how I miss you! I find it cruel how you left me in that way, yet I cannot be angry at you for long. I want to tell you, Erik, that I am sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to finally love you. Sorry for all of the anguish and sorrow I caused you, for the physical and emotional pain I put you through. And though I know you'll never read this, it gives me comfort knowing that it is on the paper from your house; you let me have a few more pieces. They are all the physical memories that I have of you. And now they are almost gone. Perhaps I shall lock this horrible journal away somewhere where no one will ever find it...no one. Maybe, when it is crumbled to dust, it will join your opera. It will never be as magnificent or horrible, but it is your life; this is mine. My own _Don Juan_.

Raoul has given me a new journal, which is good, since this is my last sheet of paper, and it is almost gone. I close this now with the hope of a better future, though it will never be wonderful, since it does not include you. My heart is in constant pain, and I wish you would let me join you. But you have made me stay in more ways than one. Even in death, you plan and guide me. You will never be completely gone, but you will exist in the cruelest way possible. Endlessly teasing me with your presence, but never appearing, you will soon take me with you, Erik.

_I see black light_.

_Christine_


	38. End

**End**

This is slightly uncomfortable for me. I have never been much of a journal-keeper, but Christine gave me this very handsome journal and I'm writing in it so as not to hurt her feelings. My wife, however, is a different story. Every night I can count on seeing her scribbling away at the desk, her head bent low, her brows knitted, and her lips pursed. A while ago I asked, teasingly, of course, if I should be jealous of the journal. She gave me the most haunting look, and I'll remember it for the rest of my life.

"This journal," she said softly, "was probably the only thing that kept me sane when..."

Then she hugged it to her chest and walked out of the room. I had no doubt as to where she was headed; she always goes to our son's room down the hall. Once she calms down, she returns and apologizes, and I instantly forgive her. After all, Christine should be offered some leniency, considered all she had been through. But I cannot go into that just yet. For now I'll focus on the happier aspects of my life and briefly skim the surface so future generations who read this (which I sincerely doubt) will understand a bit about me.

Christened Raoul de Chagny, I am now forty, having just celebrated my birthday two days ago. A strange feeling, to be forty now. I met my wonderful wife, Christine, when we were children at a private school. Years passed, and I experimented with many different things before finally returning to my family roots to pursue a career in business management. When I was twenty-four, I found Christine again. We were happy for a while, and I fell in love with her. Before I had the chance to propose, however, she disappeared – kidnapped right out of her own apartment. It was worse than hell itself. No trace of her was left, and all I could do was pray and wish and hope she would return. And she did, four years after her disappearance. But I don't wish to write about that now, as I have previously stated. I want to get down the basics of our life.

We married a few months after her return, and she became pregnant on the honeymoon. Poor Christine; her kidnapping, added with her return, marriage, and sudden pregnancy has made her very poor in health, yet she is recovering slowly and surely. She smiles quite often now, and positively adores our son, Christopher (named after her father), who is a tyrant and our greatest joy at the same time. And yet, Christine was so upset by our unexpected conception. I remember when she told me. I was going over some papers in the bedroom when she entered, looking terrified.

"Is there something wrong?" I asked, setting the papers down and watching her fidget uncomfortably. "Christine?"

"I..." Her eyes filled with well-known tears, and I rushed over to comfort her.

"Christine, what is it? You can tell me anything."

She nodded and tried to collect enough air to force something out. "I... I'm..." Looking at the floor, she burst out the last part. "Going to have a baby!"

I was shocked, yet immeasurably excited. "A baby?" I questioned eagerly. She nodded, tears dripping down her nose onto the floor. I took her chin and forced her to look at me.

"Why are you crying?" I demanded incredulously. "A baby is a wonderful thing!"

"But we haven't been married for two months yet! This is too soon!"

"That doesn't matter to me," I responded firmly. "I love you, Christine. And I'll never stop."

Her pregnancy was very difficult. Complication after complication arose, and we were extremely anxious we were going to lose little Christopher before he even breathed fresh air. Yet he arrived, a healthy, squalling little thing, about a month early, but that did not seem to matter. It still frightens me to think that Christine almost died during labor; she is such a small thing, and so fragile. Silly of me to say, but she is. For a few hours not a thought passed through my mind of the baby – only Christine. She had some difficulties during her birth and had been rushed out of the room before I had had the chance to say a word to her. When the doctors confirmed she was going to live, they also had some grim news.

"Unless by some miracle she grows healthier and bigger, you two should not try for any more children."

When I told Christine she burst into tears, violently blaming herself for everything and that I would hate her now for everything she's put me through. It shocked me.

"Stop being stupid!" I snapped, more than a bit angry, I must admit. "Do you think that matters as long as you and the baby we have now are fine? I could never, _ever _put you through something like that again."

A ghost of a smile flitted across her pale, strained face. "You sound like – " Yet she stopped, bit her lip, and asked me to get her something to drink. When I left I heard her start to cry.

Christine cried quite a bit during the first months of her return, and, to be perfectly honest, it did irk me that she would not say why. I wanted to help her and comfort her, but she would only excuse herself and pretend that she was feeling pains from the unborn baby. After interrogating Nicolette and my mother, I found that they did not cry that often from the pain. I then took Christine to the doctor's, who said that there was a slight complication, but if she rested in bed and took medication it should be fine. Before we left, Dr. Balhorn (our old family doctor) asked if he could speak to me in private.

"To be perfectly frank, Raoul," he said to me, leaning in and folding his arms over his desk, "Christine will more likely than not give birth earlier than normal. The baby should be fine, but I'm more worried about your wife." He carefully adjusted his picture frame on his desk as I felt the blood drain from my face.

"Will she be all right?" I asked hoarsely, gripping the arms of the chair painfully hard.

"I'm trying to be blunt with you, but still have a sense of compassion," Balhorn said lightly. "It's not easy being a doctor."

"Stop, please. Just tell me honestly: will Christine be all right?"

The doctor gave a heavy sigh and stared at a legal document on his desk. "I'm not sure. But – ! Before you run off with your feelings, listen to me. Since your family and I have been friends for quite a while, I will ensure that Christine gets the best care possible. Meanwhile she needs, like I've said, bed rest and medication. She is just so – forgive me – fragile and...weak. The mental and physical pain of childbirth might be too much for her. Do you understand?"

I nodded curtly; I knew Christine to be delicate, but to have it plainly stated in front of my face rather offended me. However, I knew Balhorn was doing all that was possible for her, so I simply asked if there was anything I could do.

"Has she told anyone at all _everything_ that happened when she was kidnapped?" he immediately enquired and, after seeing me shake my head no, continued. "She needs a confidante desperately. Women, as you are highly aware, Raoul, are very different from us. If Christine has a female friend or relative that she can talk to, she might heal better. And I'm not talking about physical injuries, you understand."

I was skeptical of this advice, yet decided that Christine did need someone to whom she could talk freely. No matter how badly my curiosity ate at me, she had only given me scant details of what had taken place while she was gone. The police – how I hate them – never officially returned. More, I think, to satisfy me than anything, they called us to say that they were looking for the man everywhere. I am still positive that they did, and are doing, nothing, and it makes my very blood boil. It took me a while to think of in whom she could confide. Finally, after her delivery, I knew; her sister, Lydia. Christine had mentioned her more than once. I felt quite stupid when I didn't think of that earlier and arranged to have her family pay us a visit. After introductions and a tearful reunion, the two spent the whole day in the bedroom and, when they finally emerged for dinner, both of them were red-faced and tearful, occasionally glancing meaningfully at the other. I did not even think to ask what they talked about when we finally went to bed.

Michael and Lydia left a week after that, and even to this day the latter and my wife cannot go more than a month without visiting the other. It doesn't really bother me; I'm used to it now and Christine is much, much happier.

During these ten years Christopher has grown at an alarming rate. A father can't be prouder than a son than I am of him. He's the smartest in his class, naturally, and Christine and I are considering moving him up a class, since he complains of boredom during lessons. He has also excelled beyond measure in art and music. Christine started teaching him how to play the piano when he was six, and before long there was nothing new she could teach him. We hired a private tutor, and after a few years it was obvious he wanted more than that. After enrolling him into a nearby orchestra he took up cello and violin lessons, and is already producing amazing sounds from both. Once I asked Christine about the startling pace at which he was progressing. She gave a lopsided smile and said quietly:

"He gets it from his father."

I laughed and left her to her book, yet she was distant for the rest of the day and called Lydia the next. Christopher adores his mother beyond measure and, although we're close, I know that there's something that the two of them share that I will never hope to be a part of. Once, returning early from work, I happened upon a startling discovery. Beautiful music was drifting down the hall from Christopher's turned-into-a-study playroom. With slight hesitation I started towards it, and then I heard Christine start to sing. It was...the most incredible sound I have ever heard in my life, and I am not saying that simply because she is my wife. Christine had liked to sing, but after she was returned, she never once made the attempt. It didn't seem consequential, so I didn't press the matter. But this...this was astonishing. I have no idea what she was singing or any technicalities of the sort, but I immediately made my way towards the music. Attempting to be as quiet as possible, I opened the door. Christopher was playing the piano, naturally, gazing at his mother with quiet adoration as she held herself gracefully, her sweet mouth open and emitting the most heavenly sound on earth. Sadly, she caught sight of me and stopped immediately, her cheeks flushing with color and her shoulders drooping.

"What? Why are you stopping?" I asked, opening the door a bit wider and allowing myself full entrance.

"Oh! It was – it was horrible, really." She was starting to look uncomfortable. "I haven't tried for years, and I didn't really get a nice warm-up. I'm sorry."

"Christine," I breathed, "I had no idea...at all...! Why didn't you tell me? You could sing onstage like you've always wanted to! I'm completely tone-deaf, as you know, but that was amazing!"

She shook her head. "It isn't important. Just a whimsical thought of mine. I think I'm going to go help with dinner now."

Seeing it useless to argue, I gave a grin to Christopher and left, disheartened, but not before hearing him say, "But mom, we just sang yesterday!"

----

I know there are innumerable secrets Christine keeps from me, most of them about her kidnapping, yet she has not kept that from Lydia. And yet there are secrets which would be better if she told me. There are times when I catch her absently gazing off into the sky, a far-away look in her eyes. There are times when I can hear her still cry, and, thankfully, those are becoming less frequent, yet still not completely gone. There is always a time in a husband's life when he doubts his wife's love for him, but for Christine, I am almost anxious when it comes to her. I would do anything I could to please her, but she asks so little. It seems as if I cannot give her anything. I made it perfectly clear as soon as we were married about this, and can remember it vividly.

"Christine?"

"Yes?" She was bent over her book, studying intently. Soon after Christopher was born she went back to finish her schooling, and she is now a registered nurse at the local hospital.

"I want you to know that...that I would do anything for you."

Turning to me, a small smile graced her mouth. "I already know that, Raoul. Thank you. But I already have everything I want: a home...a family...you."

Yet she still asks _nothing_. I don't think she would ask for food if it was denied to her. Perhaps it is something about her nature; I have never known a more generous and patient person. This is why she is loved so much at the hospital and at home. I love Christine more than I can say, more than I can describe. But I fear that she might belong, heart and soul, to someone else.

_Fin_


End file.
